“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I am honoured that you have come to visit. Mr. Collins and my sister, Maria, are out tending our beehives at the far end of the gardens at the moment. I expect them back soon. Please do sit with us, and I shall order more tea.”
Darcy numbly took a chair. Had he heard correctly? Elizabeth was not married to Mr. Collins, but Miss Lucas was? How had this come about? He now cursed himself at the thought of Bingley’s unread letters.
As Elizabeth glanced over at Mr. Darcy, she tried not to think upon their last moments together in Hertfordshire; after all, he was now a married man. It seemed improper to be recalling such intimate moments with a man who was now wed to someone else.
But she could not help it as her eyes focused on the mouth that had once covered hers, bringing her such exquisite pleasure. Thinking of the passion his kiss had aroused, her eyes darted momentarily to his strong hands, recalling how they had touched her skin with such tender caresses. She shivered slightly as she imagined his embrace that had secured her body so crushingly close to his.
Discomfited by such fervid thoughts while in his very presence, her complexion turned florid. She inhaled a slight gasp as their eyes met again. The knowing look he bestowed unsettled her. Had he read her thoughts? She quickly turned her eyes away.
As if from a faraway distance she heard Charlotte inquire as to his health. The sound of his voice brought her focus back to their conversation.
“I am quite well, thank you.”
“And how is Mrs. Darcy?” she could not help but ask, knowing that once she heard him speak of his wife, she would finally put to rest any lingering hope. She now looked directly into his eyes, awaiting his reply, afraid to take a breath as if doing so might somehow alter his response.
Darcy allowed a wistful smile to slowly materialize on his face as he came to the realization that fate had ordained that neither of them had married.
“I am afraid you are mistaken as well, Miss Bennet; I, also, have not married,” he said as he stared back into her fine eyes.
Elizabeth gave a cursory glance towards Charlotte and hoped she did not appear ruffled. She then turned a bemused look upon Mr. Darcy.
“But how can that be, sir? Miss Marston, herself, told me in London of your plans for an immediate wedding, and even Mr. Bingley expressed his opinion that he believed you were now wed.” With her voice somewhat shaky, Elizabeth sounded almost desperate to convince him that the event had indeed occurred.
“A misunderstanding; I will write Bingley to clear up his misconception. Miss Marston . . . Miss Marston and I decided we did not suit after all. The last I heard, she had left London, most likely to return to her family’s country estate in Northumberland.”
“Will you be staying long at Rosings?” asked Charlotte.
“About a fortnight,” he replied, but as his eyes sought Elizabeth’s, he reconsidered his answer. “Or, perhaps, longer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The sun made a long overdue appearance as Darcy headed for the stables. After spending much of the morning hunched over his aunt’s ledgers, he was looking forward to an invigorating ride. Lady Catherine had started in again at lunch on his imaginary betrothal to Anne, and he had hurriedly consumed the cold ham and the pickled beet salad, not really enjoying them at all. As he reached the stable door, he observed the horse that was being saddled, recognizing it immediately, for he had purchased the strikingly fit animal himself several months ago.
“Are you expecting the owner, Jenkins?” he asked the elderly man, a longtime employee of his aunt’s.
“Aye, sir. Comes sees ‘em every afternoon, she does; rides ‘em when the weather’s fine. She’s mighty keen on ‘em,” he stated with a tooth-deprived grin.
Darcy decided to linger as he own steed was readied. He approached Florio, and the stallion nuzzled his riding jacket pocket, obviously remembering where he stored the treats he had brought him every morning at Netherfield.
“Ah, so you remember me,” he stated as he gifted the horse a carrot.
He turned at the sound of the stable door opening, and she was standing there, a welcome sight that instinctively brought a smile to his face and elevated his spirits.
As Elizabeth walked towards him, she noticed that, as usual, Mr. Darcy had momentarily focused his eyes on her uneven gait before lifting his gaze to meet hers. As many times as he had witnessed her walk, she wondered why he should still find it such a curiosity.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy. I see you’ve met my trusted companion, Florio.”
“We were just getting acquainted.”
“Isn’t he most magnificent?” Elizabeth reached into her skirt pocket to retrieve the apple she had carefully quartered before leaving the parsonage. As Florio enjoyed his second treat of the afternoon, Elizabeth smoothed her hand down his muscled back. “I still cannot believe he is mine.”
“Your enjoyment of him is clearly written on your face, Miss Bennet.”
“Even when I am not riding him, Florio has been a comfort to me; we have become quite intimate friends. I am very relieved, however, that he cannot speak, for he knows all of my deepest, darkest secrets.”
He smiled at her easy discourse. “We may as well ride together, unless you find that objectionable.”
“Not at all. As a matter of fact, I was hoping to find someone who might accompany me, as I promised my father I would not ride out too far on my own.”
Jenkins presented Darcy’s saddled horse to him, and before he took the reins, he helped Elizabeth mount Florio. Once she was settled, he lifted her foot and seemed to be measuring it against the length of his hand before placing it into the stirrup.
They rode out together, enjoying the weather and the intoxicating smell of spring that the recent rains had unleashed, while Darcy pointed out an occasional landmark of interest.
After a vigorous romp, they headed back towards Rosings, and just as the house came into view, Darcy slowed their pace and led them towards a large copse.
As he guided them into a heavily wooded area, the sun dappled through the still damp, newly budding leaves, giving off a hazy, ethereal feel, as if they were entering a mystical place.
Elizabeth followed close behind him, intrigued as to his purpose. When they finally emerged from the dense thicket, they were suddenly in a grassy glade where wildflowers grew in abundance. Trees surrounded the picturesque clearing, and in the middle sat two benches. From the looks of them, they had not been employed in a very long time, as they were encrusted with years of neglect.
“I was curious if this little park still existed,” he offered. “My sister and I discovered it on one of our visits, and I had the benches moved here. I spent many a summer’s afternoon enjoying this little parcel of land with Georgie, secluded away from the rest of the world.”
“From the looks of things, I would say that is something you have not done in a very long time.”
“No,” he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice, “that was long ago, before our mother’s health had so irrevocably declined, when I still believed that love was the cure for everything. Seeing this place again makes me long for the past, when the world seemed so much simpler.”
“Yes,” she softly agreed. “It is a shame we cannot go back to when life had not yet imposed upon us.”
He looked at her and studied her face for a moment. She had a way of making him feel that he could tell her anything and that somehow she would understand. What was this contentment that came over him just being in her presence? Why did he want to entrust her with his most intimate thoughts?
“Perhaps we should learn to take pleasure in the moments that life presently offers,” he said before he confessed. “I am grateful that you and I will have a chance to renew our friendship, Miss Bennet.”
She tilted her head and looked up at him. “As am I, Mr. Darcy.”
She then looked out over the abandoned park. A little paint and a small amount of landscaping would do it wonders. “Perhap
s with some tender loving care, this little haven might once again return to its former glory. To be honest, I would not mind a peaceful refuge in which to retreat on my afternoons. My cousin’s conversation tends to be highly . . . righteous, and he seldom runs out of topics on which to advise.”
Her colour deepened slightly at her uncharitable admission, but Darcy gave her a look which conveyed his empathy. “Yes, my aunt’s conversation can be equally as challenging.”
They shared a smile at their mutual circumstances, and then Darcy led them back out to the fields as they headed towards the stables. Though the rest of their journey was without conversation, they seemed quite content just to be in each other’s company.
********
“Do you play, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth put down her teacup and looked up at her hostess. “I do, Lady Catherine, but very ill indeed.”
They had just finished dinner and were now enjoying some tea and iced cakes in the parlour. Darcy stood by the fireplace, finding it impossible to sit still while his aunt, as usual, dominated the conversation with her unyielding opinions.
“Nonsense, all young ladies know how to play. You will do very well, I am sure,” was Lady Catherine’s response.
“Really, your ladyship, I am barely competent.”
“Since your unfortunate accident has limited your prospects, Miss Bennet, I would think you would be wise to make an effort to attend to those little accomplishments which are wont to make young ladies more appealing.”
The room went suddenly still as Elizabeth’s eyes looked downward and her complexion deepened.
Elizabeth’s reaction, however, escaped the notice of Lady Catherine, as she haughtily offered her the usage of the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room on which to practice, where she would be in no one’s way.
Darcy tried to dispel the uncomfortable silence that followed. “Which would you say do you do best, Miss Bennet,” he asked, hoping she would recognize his private tease, “play the pianoforte or embroider?”
Elizabeth looked up at the sound of his voice, and their eyes momentarily locked as she bequeathed him a furtive grin. “I would say I do both with equal proficiency, Mr. Darcy.”
“Then I insist that you play for us, Miss Bennet,” said Lady Catherine as she turned her attentions back towards the rest of her guests, continuing her conversation with Charlotte and Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth rose from her chair and walked towards the pianoforte, eyeing the instrument with contempt. She would have preferred bestowing that look upon Lady Catherine but, fortunately, she had been reared to respect her elders. When she sat, her hands tentatively touched the keys, and she took a deep breath.
As she played in the most rudimentary manner, she glanced up at Mr. Darcy, who was now walking in her direction. When he approached, she tried to make light of her musical deficiency.
“I suppose I should have paid more attention to my lessons, but at the time, the thought of sitting in one place for an entire hour was not at all appealing. Well, at least I have proven to your aunt my sincerity.”
“It is of little matter how practiced your skill, Miss Bennet. My aunt accomplished her purpose the moment you sat down to play. She takes great pleasure in having others concede to her wishes, a propensity that constantly keeps her at odds with me.”
“Oh? What is it that she wishes to have you do, sir?”
“Well, for a starter, marry my cousin Anne.”
Elizabeth momentarily fixed her attention upon the young woman seated beside Lady Catherine. She had almost forgotten she was in attendance, as she had hardly spoken a single word the entire evening. When Elizabeth had inquired if she was enjoying the last few days of sunshine after so much rain, she merely responded with a slight dip of her chin. And when asked a question that could be answered with neither a nod nor a shake of her head, Lady Catherine had immediately answered on her behalf.
She turned her eyes back to his. “I must admit, I do not see the two of you as a couple, Mr. Darcy.”
“With the exception of my aunt, not many would, but every year she seems to become more adamant on the subject. Usually my cousin Richard accompanies me on these yearly visits to help distract her thoughts, but he has been delayed for several days.”
“Well then, you had better restore your little park soon, so that you might have somewhere pleasant to which you may escape.”
“It has already been taken care of,” he replied. “I hope you will employ it also on afternoons when a similar need arises.” They both stole a quick glance towards Mr. Collins, then shared a secretive smile.
When Lady Catherine looked over in their direction and observed the look of pleasure on their faces, she insisted upon her share of the conversation. Their smiles were of short duration.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The following afternoon found Elizabeth growing exceedingly impatient as she tried to think of an excuse to abandon the parlour at Hunsford. There she sat with Charlotte and Maria while her cousin expounded on Fordyce’s views on novels. To say the man disapproved of them would be a vast understatement; his wrath of them extended so far as to declare any woman who could bear perusing them a prostitute. For who else might find enjoyment in their shameful treason against virtue? According to Mr. Fordyce, his assumptions were based purely on hearsay, as his sermon on the topic declared he had never actually read one of these scandalous novels himself.
During Mr. Collins’s discourse, Charlotte and Elizabeth exchanged guilty glances, knowing each other to have indulged on several occasions in such frivolous forms of entertainment; their guilt, of course, derived from the fact that they had both taken great delight in such amusements. However, Elizabeth refused to believe the sparse knowledge that the novels had provided regarding the intimacy between men and women would render her soul for eternity to the fiery gates of hell.
Indeed she had been convinced by the books she had read that either a great many details were being omitted, or the intimacy that was possible to be achieved between two passionately drawn people was nothing at all like she had imagined. For when she recalled Mr. Darcy’s ardent kiss, she knew she had never read anything that even remotely came close to describing the feelings he had aroused. If his mere kiss could produce such a reaction in her, what other forms of heavenly torture could he incite?
She gave a guarded look towards Charlotte, as she acknowledged that her friend must now be well acquainted with what transpires between a husband and wife in the marriage bed. But the odious thought of sweet Charlotte engaging in the rituals of married intimacy with Mr. Collins had her desperately struggling to eliminate such thoughts from her mind.
As the afternoon grew later and later, Elizabeth could no longer hide her impatience. As she stood, all eyes turned towards her. “I’m afraid my leg grows stiff,” she explained. “I had best take a short walk to seek some relief.”
She did not wait for a reply as she hurriedly made her escape, not even venturing a backward glance towards Charlotte and Maria, who she was sure were now witnessing her hasty departure with envy.
She headed immediately for Rosing’s stables, and when she arrived, she was relieved to see Florio still saddled and anxiously awaiting his daily exercise.
“He’s been expectin’ ya fer hours. Was just about to unsaddle the poor restless creature.”
“Sorry, Jenkins,”
“Not me ya be needin’ to apologize to.”
Elizabeth’s guilt was twofold as she realized that not only had she kept Florio waiting all afternoon, but in her hurry to vacate the parsonage she had forgotten to bring him his daily apple.
She allowed Jenkins to assist in her mount, and then she and Florio enthusiastically rode out, both eager for the freedom of the open fields.
After they were both happily exhausted, Elizabeth turned them back towards Rosings but slowed their pace as they came upon the familiar copse. The thought of returning once again to the parsonage and her cousin’s sententious pont
ificating made her next decision an easy one.
She approached the wooded area and carefully guided Florio through the dense thicket until they reached the clearing. She dismounted and walked to the benches, which had now been scrubbed and painted a pristine white. When she looked around her, she saw the jasmine that was newly planted along the borders of the small park.
She let Florio’s reins drop, allowing the stallion to freely roam the boundaries of the recently manicured grounds. She sat on one of the benches and closed her eyes, freeing her mind of all thought as she enjoyed the calming serenity of late afternoon.
As her mind floated in and out of a delicious sleep, she felt a slight chill and moved closer to the warmth radiating just beside her. Her cheek rested upon a firm cushion as she inhaled a musky scent and exhaled a sigh. The familiar aroma permeated her senses and conjured Mr. Darcy’s presence in her dreams. They were at the ball at Netherfield, and he was holding her in his arms as they gracefully danced a most lovely waltz. Once again, her dreams made it possible for her to enjoy this long desired pleasure with him.
Seated beside her, Darcy looked down upon the young woman who slept so peacefully. One small hand reached out as her arm encompassed his torso, while her other hand she tucked snuggly under her chin. Her head rested lightly on his chest. When he felt her slight shiver, he enfolded her in a protective embrace, and she nestled herself closer to him.
He had arrived at the park a short while ago, seeking refuge from both the task of balancing Rosing’s accounts and avoiding his aunt’s interminable machinations. When he approached the benches, he saw Elizabeth’s body slipping down as she drifted into slumber. He had quickly moved to sit beside her, anchoring his body against hers as a means of support.
He had not the heart to awaken her, as the look upon her face suggested she was enjoying her dream. Just what did a young lady like Elizabeth Bennet dream about? he wondered.
As he studied her, he observed the thick lashes that hovered over the rosy hue of her cheeks; her enticing lips were slightly parted as if anticipating a kiss. He tried not to think about those lips or the softness of the body that clung so appealingly to his. Such thoughts were dangerous, for he knew his feelings for Miss Elizabeth Bennet were far beyond any he had ever felt before, and he was not about to lead his heart down that perilous primrose path. But he had to admit, it felt quite natural to hold her like this. She fit so perfectly in his arms, almost as if she belonged there.
The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love Page 17