At precisely eleven o’clock, he was striding up to the front door of Longbourn Manor. As he approached, the door swung back to reveal a young lady of perhaps eighteen years of age. His heart stalled for a moment, for there was initially a great resemblance to Elizabeth Bennet. But as he drew closer, Darcy saw that this young lady’s features were more rounded and softened and that her eyes lacked the clarity and brilliance of Elizabeth’s, being more of an indeterminate grey-blue. She also appeared to be more sober in personality: there were no untidy ends, loose ribbons or wayward curls corkscrewing erratically down her neck.
“Oh!” she said, stepping back into the hall in surprise. “You must be Mr. Darcy, I suppose.”
His eyes narrowed. “I am. And you are obviously one of the Miss Bennets?”
“Mary Bennet, sir,” she said, bobbing a quick curtsey. “I knew you right away from Maria Lucas’s description. I was just on my way to visit her. Did you wish to see my father? Only he is down at the bottom fields today with Mr. Lester, our steward. Should I send someone to call him?”
Darcy raised his brows in surprise. This was not the Mr. Bennet that he knew. Perhaps the man was not as idle as he had previously thought.
“I actually came to have a few words with Miss Elizabeth.”
Mary Bennet frowned, “I didn’t realise that you knew her that well. I’ll go and call her, shall I? It’s this way to the back parlour. It’s empty at the moment so you can wait in there.”
She left Darcy standing in the middle of a sunny room which, if the abundance of lace and frilled cushions was anything to go by, was largely used by the women of the household. At one end, in front of the fireplace, chairs and couches were grouped around a very pretty Axminster carpet and on the other a table covered in needlework and books was surrounded by several upright chairs.
He was standing inspecting a series of framed silhouettes of the Bennet sisters on the far wall, when he heard someone entering the room behind him and turned.
Miss Elizabeth stood looking at him expectantly from just inside the doorway. He wondered that he had ever confused her with Miss Mary – even momentarily. She carries herself well, was his surprising thought as his gaze travelled from her face down her slender white neck to where her bosom rose and fell, stirring the delicate lace of her fichu. For a change, she was charmingly outfitted in an airy, white muslin gown, her luxuriant curls held back by a green ribbon. Beneath her thick, dark lashes, some unknown emotion made her green eyes gleam. He had never seen her looking so appealing and he wasn’t sure that he liked it. It undermined him somehow.
Darcy was well aware that he had been in the wrong at their last meeting but that did not stop him from being angry at Elizabeth. She had humbled him and so his bow, when he gave it, was barely perceptible. So was the tonelessly expressed hope that his visit came at a convenient moment. It was all the attention that he was willing to give the little termagant.
Elizabeth frowned and gave him a direct look from underneath her dark brows. “I can’t say that I expected to see you again, sir,” she said honestly. “I thought that when we parted in the village, we were at the point of no longer tolerating each other’s company.”
“I have come to mend fences, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, suppressing his irritation and making a valiant effort to smile. “It might be polite to offer me a seat?” he prompted, his head at an enquiring angle.
“Certainly.” Her eyebrows had shot up at the idea of him repairing their non-existent relationship but she seemed otherwise unmoved. She walked into the room and gestured towards a chair standing to one side of the fireplace. She took the one facing it, her hands demurely folded on her lap. A short silence ensued.
“Well?” she looked at him questioningly.
“I beg your pardon?” Darcy replied, at a loss as to what to say.
“Mr. Darcy. You came to mend fences – or so you say. I’m waiting for your opening gambit.”
“I know that we are in the depths of Hertfordshire, but in civilized company a little polite conversation from the hostess is usually thought to be necessary to break the ice, Miss Elizabeth. For example, you might ask how Mr. Bingley is keeping and I might return the favour by asking after the health of your older sister.”
“At which point, I might respond that I do not know, Mr. Darcy. Jane is in London at the moment, as I’m sure Mr. Bingley will have told you.”
Darcy rose and stood in front of the fireplace. He clasped his hands together behind his back, in an attempt to stop himself from running them through his hair in utter frustration. Was he actually going to descend into bickering with this impudent little chit once again?
“You have to be one of the most irritating people I have ever met,” he burst out. It’s no wonder that I lost my temper with you yesterday.”
Her eyes sparkled devilishly as she looked up at him. “And this is your apology, sir? I can’t say that I think much of your idea of refined behaviour …for all that you are from Lunnon,” she smirked, adopting the local accent in a clear reference to the insults that Granny Wiseman had hurled at him the previous day. Apparently the little witch was not above rubbing salt into the wound.
“As hard to as it may be for you to believe, Miss Elizabeth, I did come here with the intention of apologising for my behaviour yesterday. I am not accustomed to losing my temper and I have never laid a hand on a young lady in anger before. Also, having learnt from Bingley that your sister has left the district, I feel I must apologise for misjudging her. In my defense, gentlemen of means are frequently cornered by women in society who have ambitions and see the acquisition of a wealthy husband as a way to realize them. Bingley’s meetings with your sister had all the hallmarks of the sort of trap that he has blithely walked into in the past and so I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
“You have rescued him before?”
“On occasion,” said Darcy, nodding his head condescendingly.
“Ah! I would have thought Mr. Bingley to be of an age to extricate himself. As he keeps repeating the same behaviour, would it not be wise to consider that he might not want to be rescued? Then again, what do I know about men and their friendships or even the manners of polite society?” She threw up her hands in an obvious pretense of bewilderment and shrugged, “We live a quiet life here in the backwoods, sir.”
Darcy looked at her through narrowed eyes and decided that she was definitely trying to provoke him. But he had no opportunity to test this theory, for the next minute the little shrew was nodding dismissively and standing: thus indicating that their conversation was at an end. This, without even offering him a cup of tea!
She walked to the door, on the way stopping at the table to pick up the hat and gloves that he had left there. Together with the rest, this gesture cemented his annoyance. He had apologized. Where was the forgiveness on her part? It was as if she had taken control of the situation and meant to see him off her doorstep as quickly as she could. As if I would overstay my welcome in this house he thought stalking towards her.
As he approached, she handed both items to him, but the arms-length manner in which she held out his hat and gloves struck him as strange. It was awkward, as was the exaggerated angle at which she held his hat. It was obvious that she meant to avoid any accidental touch. Could she be wary of me? Darcy thought in surprise. Instantaneously a devil in him awoke and he decided to discover if it was so.
As if she had read his thoughts and wished to distract him, Elizabeth began speaking. “It has been most interesting meeting you, Mr. Darcy. I’m not sure that our paths will cross again. However, should they do so, I can undertake to remain firmly on my side of the divide,” she said lightly, taking a small step back. In doing so, she confirmed his suspicion. She was going out of her way to avoid brushing his hand with her own.
“I have found it equally interesting meeting you, Miss Elizabeth.”
Deliberately transferring his hat and gloves to his other hand, Darcy consciously defied convention and stepp
ed forward into the space she had left between them. From this close proximity he took her reluctant hand in his, lightly brushing his thumb across the sensitive skin of her palm as he did so. This was no accident. Darcy knew his way around women in society and this subtle action was one he had used frequently when leading up to the seduction of more experienced ladies of the ton. It was calculated to arouse a sensual response in the lady and to confirm that he was an interested male.
A light blush rose up Elizabeth Bennet’s neck and stained her cheeks, but she showed no other reaction as he bent over her hand and kissed it. Her flesh was warm and smelled faintly of roses and lavender. It reminded him of the day he had first seen her reading in the fields.
Chapter 11
“It is many years before one can believe enough in what one feels, even to know what the feeling is”
W. B. Yeats
It was fortunate for Mr. Darcy’s peace of mind that the next three days passed without him sighting a single member of the Bennet family. The weather had been kind and so the days were spent exclusively in male company: grouse hunting being the activity of choice. This was not to say that he hadn’t given the Bennet family a great deal of thought or that Bingley hadn’t referred to Jane Bennet with monotonous regularity over the period. However, Darcy was convinced that his friend would soon forget her. Though the young lady was exceptionally beautiful, Bingley’s exposure to her had been short. For Darcy the problem was somewhat different.
By the following Monday, he was tired of his own thoughts and more than ready for a change of pace. Finding a love-lorn Bingley lethargic and reluctant to accompany him, he had ventured into Meryton on his own to visit the Circulating Library. It so happened that the hours he chose were the same as those of his first visit. It therefore came as no real surprise to see the two ladies, Elizabeth Bennet and Charlotte Collins, standing at the counter in the act of returning books.
During the past three days, Darcy had come to feel somewhat ashamed of his behaviour at his last meeting with Miss Elizabeth. However annoying she might be, she was after all, a young, innocent woman and so he had made up his mind that if he saw her again, he would show her that he respected her; that he regretted his behaviour; that he was, in fact, her superior in both breeding and manners and was therefore intent on overlooking any future attempts she might make to provoke him.
To that end, when the two women turned, he bowed with unaccustomed civility. “Miss Lucas, Miss Elizabeth,” he said.
“Mr. Darcy,” said Charlotte Lucas, bobbing a quick curtsey, while Elizabeth Bennet merely nodded her head in stately acknowledgement of his presence and turned back to the counter to respond to a timely question from the clerk.
Darcy, who could never endure being thwarted, came up behind them and used his height to look over their shoulders at the spine of the book that Elizabeth had prevented him from seeing the week before. Angling his head, he finally read the title: ‘Essays on Husbandry’.
So, Miss Elizabeth had been widening her knowledge of agriculture even further. To what end? he wondered.
He looked up to see Charlotte Lucas watching him, an enquiring glint in her eye. After a slight hesitation he ventured the rather inane comment: “Miss Elizabeth is interested in agriculture, I see?”
Before Charlotte could reply, Elizabeth swung around to face him, a dangerous glitter in her eyes.
“I am interested in a great many things, sir; none of them usually of concern to anyone but myself.”
“You’ll forgive me for observing that agriculture is a very unusual interest for a young lady to have,” Darcy said, grimly hanging on to his resolution to be polite.
“I suppose it is,” she said, obviously furious that he had thwarted her by discovering what she had previously attempted to conceal. Her hands were probably itching to slap his face, he thought. But even as he braced himself for some sort of retaliation, she merely dropped her gaze and observed in a cold voice, “There’s no harm in reading, after all – unless you have appointed yourself as some sort of judge in the matter?”
Without waiting for a response, she turned to her friend. “Charlotte, I find myself pressed for time. Would you mind if I went ahead to the shelves? You always make your selection more quickly than I do. I can meet up with you a little later.” She nodded dismissively in Darcy’s direction as she walked away.
“As you can see, Miss Elizabeth is none too fond of my company,” remarked Darcy.
“Ah!” said Charlotte, putting down the pen and gathering up her belongings, “I do not make excuses for my friend, Mr. Darcy, but she is in the midst of rather trying circumstances at present. Perhaps you can find it in you to forgive her behaviour? She is not normally so.”
“Would her manner have something to do with the imminent arrival of the heir to Longbourn?”
“He does arrive today and that might, in part, explain her haste. If you will excuse me, Mr. Darcy, I should not delay her further,” she said.
_________________
It was past midday when Darcy left the immediate environs of Meryton and took the dusty road back to Netherfield. As he rode, his mind circled around his latest encounter with Elizabeth Bennet. This was nothing new. Thoughts of her had intruded with surprising frequency over the past three days.
Clearly she had been less than pleased to see him. In this she was more consistent that he: for despite the hostility of their encounter at Longbourn and his attempt to unsettle her at the end of it; it was he who had come away from her home feeling strangely conflicted and unable to decide if he was repelled by or drawn to her.
The quiet evenings spent during past few days of hunting had provided the opportunity for some solitary thinking on the matter and caused him to concede - somewhat uneasily - that the manner in which he had taken his farewell of Elizabeth at Longbourn had been unnecessarily provocative. Trifling with a maiden was not usual behaviour for him, but he had been angry when he had taken possession of her hand and had wanted to provoke a reaction. At the time, he had not admitted his anger, only telling himself that it would be amusing to see if he could affect her. And she had blushed, but his own reaction had surprised him even more. At that moment he had felt something inside him awaken and stir, and - as unwelcome as the thought was - he recognized the sensation as a stronger form of the same unnamed emotion that he had felt prickling at his spine during every previous encounter he had had with Elizabeth Bennet.
He saw now that it was this internal disturbance that had put him on edge and made him so irritable in her presence. It was evident that the pattern that had characterized most of his dealings with her had probably been his way of defending himself: of struggling against the growing pull that he felt towards her. He had been drawn to her; yet constantly aware of the impossibility of a relationship and the need to keep her at a distance. His contradictory behaviour (vehement disagreements, inevitably followed by attempts to mend fences) would have confused anyone. Predictably, Elizabeth Bennet had fought back and then sought refuge in indifference. It was that indifference, he was certain, that had finally driven him to break the habits of a lifetime in the sitting room at Longbourn when he had kissed her hand.
It was not easy to accept that Elizabeth Bennet held any power over him - especially when further thoughts on the matter led him to acknowledge that he had reacted illogically from the very beginning. He had simply not understood his own emotions at the time; but now he did and he could no longer pretend to believe that Elizabeth was the principle cause of the hostility between them. Yes, she had given as good as she had got, but most of their arguments had come about because he had tried to spark a reaction: to get her to acknowledge him in some way before he pushed her from him.
It was incredible but true that all the while that he had been arguing with her, he had been secretly admiring her. Only now did he realise why he had jumped to the conclusion that she and her sister were scheming to trap Bingley and why he had stormed out of the house to find her without givin
g it a second thought. He would have liked Elizabeth Bennet to have been less than honest: it would have been easier to keep someone he despised at arm’s length.
Today at the library, he had been prepared to call a truce but had unwittingly bungled his approach once again by being too intrusive. Either that, or for reasons of her own Elizabeth Bennet was now quite determined to erect her own barrier against him. Darcy was not used to having to work for attention and so had felt her antagonism quite keenly. But then it was possible that her attitude might not be directly connected to him at all. He had to agree with Charlotte Lucas – Elizabeth did seem troubled. He wondered why she had been reading books on agriculture. Whatever the reason, the timing suggested that she had abandoned her interest because of the imminent arrival of the heir to Longbourn.
Yet, Elizabeth Bennet, a parson’s wife… His mouth quirked at the corner. He couldn’t quite see it. In fact, he anticipated that the man would take fright as soon as she opened her mouth. Darcy had never encountered a clergyman’s wife who was anything but quiet, modest and obedient to her husband’s will and none of those qualities were remotely applicable to Elizabeth. He smiled to himself as he remembered her opinionated manner, quick wit and sharp tongue. Good luck to the man who had to try to keep all of that in check while trying to set an example of marital felicity for his congregation.
Darcy continued slowly on his way. But just before taking the turnoff to Netherfield, he looked down the road and at the dust that was hanging in the air. Thinking to have first sight of the heir to Longbourn (for who else could be bowling along a country lane that led to nowhere but the three estates: Lucas Lodge, Longbourn and Netherfield) he stopped on the verge and dismounted, pretending to adjust the girth straps to his saddle.
A few seconds passed and then - just as he had anticipated - a carriage pulled up next to him and a young man with broad shoulders, fair hair and a pleasant, rather red face put his head out of the window.
The Golden Apples of the Sun Page 8