The Golden Apples of the Sun

by Ivy May Stuart

  “You see a lot of them then?”

  “Yes, but not as much as I once did. I am very involved in parish work at the moment. Times are hard for the ordinary folk of Meryton and we must all do what we can.”

  Darcy felt Georgiana slip her arm through his. “Will, Miss Randall’s brother tells me that they are also staying at the Ashford Arms. Can we not take dinner together and then accompany them on their walk up to Monsal Head tomorrow?” she asked coaxingly.

  “Are you quite sure about the walk tomorrow, Georgie? Remember the last time we tried, you gave up half-way.”

  Georgiana pouted. “But that was two years ago. I’m sure that if Miss Bennet can manage it, then I can.”

  “Miss Bennet is a strong walker, Georgie.”

  “At least let me try, Will. If I can’t manage then Richard will come back down with me. Won’t you Richard?”

  “I will, Sparrow. But if you are going to drag me out with you, you had better intend giving it your best try.”

  _______________________________

  It was twilight and in the privacy of her room at the Ashford Arms, Elizabeth sat on the edge of her bed preparing for dinner. Thoughtfully, she rolled a stocking down the length of her calf and over her foot and as she shook it out and laid it next to its partner, her mind turned over the events of the day and particularly the shock of seeing Darcy once more. Where, she wondered idly, was his wife? For he had definitely married his cousin: Jane had told her so.

  It was one more piece to add to the puzzle that had been Fitzwilliam Darcy today: for to her, the man seemed altered in several respects. To begin with, even clad as he was in everyday buckskin breeches and boots, his tall, athletic build had exuded a brand of virile magnetism which she couldn’t remember noticing in the past. He also seemed more approachable than the Darcy she had known. The expression on his face had been almost pleasant and when he looked at her, a smile that she had never seen before had seemed to lurk in his eyes. But she was not placing too much dependence upon that, for in her experience his temperament had always been unreliable.

  Elizabeth got up and moved over to where the washstand stood in the corner of the room. As she splashed water into the bowl and slowly washed, her mind returned to dwell on the last time that she had seen him. It had been at Jane’s wedding: the day after that dreadful ball at Netherfield. Darcy, who had been particularly gentle during her ordeal the night before, had deliberately avoided making eye-contact the next day - both during the church service and the wedding breakfast that followed. Naturally she had felt rejected and so began to ignore him in turn. Then he had simply disappeared. Apparently he had spoken to Jane and Bingley and called in at her father’s study on his way out. But he had not stopped to take leave of her. At the time she had been a little hurt and had come to the obvious conclusion that he wished to avoid her after their intimacy of the previous evening.

  Sitting on the side of the bed with her chemise in her hand, Elizabeth slowly slid into a reverie. Her thoughts moved from the events of the past to dwell on the strength of Darcy’s profile, his reserved smile and the muscles of his thighs as they had flexed through the softness of his buckskins during today’s encounter in the village. She had just begun to compare his muscular legs to Edward’s rather thinner ones, when she pulled herself up short. Where can I possibly be going with such notions? She thought, blushing and scolding herself as she pulled the under-garment over her head.

  Outside, the light had all but disappeared. For the first time Elizabeth noticed that the room had darkened around her. There was now an urgency to complete her preparations for the evening ahead.

  ______________________________________

  There was no denying that the presence of Elizabeth Bennet in the village that morning had come as a shock to Darcy. Part of his attraction to her had always manifested in a strange ability to recognise her, no matter the distance. It was no different today: he had spotted her immediately from his position on the bridge and with recognition had come a host of equally familiar sensations. Just as it had always done, his heart had begun to pound and his brain to empty itself of all thoughts.

  In the three years that had passed since they had last seen each other, Darcy had not precisely mourned Elizabeth: there had been too many demands on him for that. His emotions (had he stopped to analyse them) were more akin to the wistful resignation that comes with a lost first love. Darcy was too much of a realist to idealise anyone; but during the long nights, he had come to realise that mere physical attraction while powerful, could not explain the intense, complex feelings that had overwhelmed him during his short acquaintance with Elizabeth.

  His reaction today told him that the old emotions were still there, but accompanied now by a strong surge of nostalgia: as if Elizabeth was not just an object of desire but a constant, familiar, well-loved friend. Over the past three years, her face (down to the dusting of freckles on her nose) had remained clear in his mind and so he could say with some certainty as he looked at her, that there was a maturity to her gaze now that had not been there before… and she was perhaps a little more slender? She seemed otherwise unchanged. It was as if the trials of the intervening three years had been a preparation for just this moment: this re-acquaintance. Certainly he was not the same man that he had been when they first met. Nor (he realised with a sudden rush of joy) had he the same restrictions upon him. He could afford to please himself now.

  But as always with Elizabeth, there remained the problem of interpreting her emotions. He anxiously watched her treat his cousin with the same friendliness she accorded him and wondered whether he was any more to her than just a casual acquaintance. This thought was to plague him throughout the long afternoon leading up to their next meeting, which was to be that evening at dinner.

  He had been tasked with arranging a private dining room for their group. Had Elizabeth been a fly on the wall in the room, she would have felt quite vindicated in her recollection of the moody side of his nature: for when Richard came in some thirty minutes before the dinner bell, Darcy was standing in front of the fire, scowling down into the flames.

  “Blue-devilled, Cuz?” asked Richard jovially, hitting on the very words that were guaranteed to rub at Darcy’s inflamed feelings: for he had been brooding on the deficiencies in his own personality and in particular, what he fancied to have been his poor showing during this morning’s encounter with Elizabeth. In contrast to his cousin’s mercurial ability to charm and entertain any lady, Darcy felt that his own stolid, rather boring attempts left much to be desired.

  And it is not as if Richard has a superior intellect. Darcy had thought bitterly. No, he just has the knack of giving any conversation a light-hearted, flirtatious turn. Ladies love that. And now - not content with this morning’s victory - here he is, rubbing my nose in it.

  “Leave it alone, Richard,” he retorted, glaring aggressively at his cousin and then immediately feeling ashamed of himself.

  “Good Lord, Darcy! Merely an observation, man. Just thought you looked a trifle glum. Have a brandy. That will cheer you up in no time,” his cousin said, offering Darcy his hip flask.

  “What is the problem?” he asked as he watched Darcy taking a healthy swallow. “I had thought that you were pretty contented with your life of late…” His voice faded away as a new thought entered his consciousness. “Darcy has this anything to do with Miss Bennet?” he exclaimed.

  “Lower your voice, man!” said Darcy; aware that it was fast approaching the dinner hour. One of their new acquaintances could walk in on them at any time.

  “I see what it is,” said Richard, in amazement. “You’re annoyed because I was dallying with her.” Looking bewildered, he scratched the back of his head. “My apologies, Darce: I never knew that your feelings lay in that direction. But when did you last see her? From the conversation this morning it seemed as if it must have been some time ago.”

  “Three years,” Darcy said reluctantly.

  “You felt this
strongly about her and yet you married Anne! I owe you even more than I thought.”

  “You owe me nothing. The family would not have countenanced the match. At the time I cared about that. Now, having done my duty, I feel free to do as I please.”

  Richard whistled thoughtfully. “The family - certainly his lordship – will still have something to say about your marriage to a nobody. They will feel that you are damaging their standing in society with such an alliance. There will be the devil to pay. Making over Rosings to me would be nothing to it!” Richard fell silent for a minute.

  “But one thing that I have realized recently is that both you and I are far happier being our own men, Darce. We can’t be cast in the role of rebellious lads for our entire lives. The family’s power over us is waning and they will just have to live with our decisions – or not, as the case may be.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Richard. I am nowhere near proposing at the moment. I’ve only just seen Miss Bennet again. Don’t go putting the cart before the horse.”

  “Right. But if I can give you a tip for this evening…?”

  Darcy nodded wearily and took another long swallow from Richard’s hip flask.

  “Relax. Don’t think about how she sees you or weigh every word you utter as you usually do. Just focus your attention on learning about her, on hearing her opinions and other than that, be yourself. There’s nothing more flattering to a woman than someone taking a sincere interest in her.”

  Chapter 26

  “Conversation about weather is the last

  refuge of the unimaginative”

  Oscar Wilde

  Geoffrey Randall, a young man blessed with a naturally cheerful and sensitive disposition, had been raised by a loving mama to be the perfect gentleman. His innate courtesy made him popular with the ladies, as did the fact that he was the heir to his father’s sizeable estate and would gain control of neighbouring Chalford on the demise of his uncle’s widow, Lady Randall (her marriage to Sir Joseph having been childless).

  Like everyone else, Elizabeth Bennet found him charming, but within days of their first meeting, she had laid an accurate finger on his greatest flaw: his lack of resolve. It was an opinion long shared by his papa and his aunt, who both felt that the boy needed to get into the rough and tumble of life: to encounter a little healthy opposition here and there before he could rightfully be called a man. As it was, he was surrounded by adoring sisters, doted upon by his mother and, beyond the time he had spent at Eton and university, had hardly known a day of strife in his whole life.

  Lady Randall had hoped to make a match of it between her grandniece and Geoffrey, correctly reading Elizabeth’s strength and hoping that their union would provide Geoffrey with the necessary backbone that he lacked. However, Elizabeth, operating far from home and thus free from her mother’s hysterics, had dug in her heels. She was fond of Geoffrey and could even acknowledge how attractive he was, but she wanted something more from marriage than a puppy she could bring to heel. She wanted the kind of love that she had seen growing between her sister and Bingley.

  Lady Randall had been surprisingly reasonable. She had accepted Elizabeth’s decision without question and had advised her to put her intelligence to work on deciding what she did require from a future partner instead. Elizabeth had done so and had moved from the position of having no idea of the sort of husband that would suit her, to the definite opinion that above all he must be a man she could respect.

  Time passed. Jane and Charles had settled happily into their new home and together with the Bennet family enjoyed the quiet, country pleasures abounding in Meryton and its surrounding districts. Beyond the ups and downs of daily events, little occurred to disturb the even tenor of their days until the Reverend Masterton, the district’s mild and rather elderly vicar, fell ill and decided to take early retirement.

  A week after his departure, a dramatic change in the weather began. Conditions became severely cold and wet with no seeming end to the misery. Month after month, heavy downpours turned fields to mud. Crop failure became a nationwide phenomenon, and in the face of nature’s unending onslaught, Meryton’s traditionally close-knit, agricultural community became depressed and leaderless.

  It was then that the Reverend Masterton’s replacement arrived and sent shockwaves through the community: for not only was the parson young, single and fiercely intelligent, but it soon became clear that he was not a conciliatory man. In addition, he had something that no one else in the community did - a vision for Meryton in these dark times. Here indeed was a man with the courage of his convictions – a keen debater, who was not afraid to stir up and face down opposition in order to bring about necessary changes in the small market town.

  Elizabeth (who had attended several church services during which the congregation was treated to his particular brand of fiery rhetoric) had found herself won over to his cause. It was certainly a case of cometh the hour, cometh the man, for what rational being, seeing the crops rot in the fields, could argue with a man whose vision was so sensible as to include founding something that he called a ‘Food Store’ which would see those with more than they needed, donating to those who had less?

  Of course, all this demanded willing hands to do the work of collecting and re-distributing items of food and clothing and Elizabeth had thrown herself into this with zeal. It had a natural appeal for her and filled the gap that had opened in her life since Jane’s marriage. Being energetic, it wasn’t long before she was coordinating the efforts of the ladies of the parish, frequently working alongside the good Reverend, and talking enough about it at the dinner table at Longbourn to make her father place an embargo on the topic.

  It was during the performance of their tasks (for Edmund Pembroke was a busy man with little time for leisure) that their views on life were exchanged and found over time to be so similar that a relationship formed which naturally progressed beyond that of parson and parishioner. This was a meeting of equals, each admiring the strength that they saw in the other and - only six months after their first meeting - Elizabeth and Edmund agreed to declare that they were courting with a view to marriage.

  The announcement was made during the family Sunday dinner and was received with great irritation by Mr. Bennet, who considered the meal ruined for him. He had been inclined from the beginning to disapprove of the radical minister on the grounds of his excessive and disruptive enthusiasm. Now the man was marrying his favourite daughter and Mr. Bennet could foresee many tedious Sunday lunches when he and his pocket would be at the mercy of his future son-in-law. Needless-to-say, Mrs. Bennet (who had long despaired of finding someone to marry her most troublesome daughter) was quite ecstatic.

  During the period that followed the couple had exchanged a few chaste kisses (the vicar being a man with iron control over all his appetites) but basically theirs had been a ‘courtship’ in name. This was largely because the concerns of the neighbourhood had rapidly grown to such an extent that neither party ever found the time to prioritize their relationship and move it on to the next stage. Yet, despite this gap in their intimate knowledge of each other, Elizabeth had become the de facto parson’s wife and had been performing many of the more onerous duties that came with that role: visiting the poor, troubled and sickly along with all her other tasks.

  Now, having been forced by Jane into spending these last three weeks away, she had managed to raise her head above water. As Jane had hoped, she had spent the time rediscovering lost pursuits: reading, walking, conversing with her cousins and taking the time to savour her food, until gradually the knots in her shoulders began to loosen and her natural good judgement to re-assert itself. It was at this point that she came to the conclusion that her sister had been right. She had allowed herself to be carried forward willy-nilly on a grim tide of poverty and need that would never be satisfied. This did not mean that she wanted to abandon parish work; but it did mean that if she and Edmund were to marry, a balance needed to be found. She had but one life
to live and while she wanted much of it to be spent in assisting her fellow man, she also longed for some personal happiness.

  And so it was that on their arrival at Ashford-in-the-water, Elizabeth was in the position of having decided that upon her return to Meryton there would be a reckoning between herself and Edmund. If they were to continue as a couple, they would have to find a way to make space for a private life amongst the calls on their time made by the community.

  _________________________

  As she descended the stairs to join the dinner party, Elizabeth could hear their chatter rising from the doors of the private dining room. She was a little later than she should have been and on entering saw that the party had already seated themselves. The younger group, consisting of Georgiana and the Randall siblings, had gathered at one end of the long table, while an empty chair (presumably for her) stood at the other end of the table between Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  Both gentlemen stood as she approached but it was left to Darcy to draw out her chair.

  “Apologies for my tardiness, gentlemen.”

  “Not at all, Miss Bennet. As you see, neither Richard nor I are complaining. After all, it has worked in our favour: we now have the pleasure of your company during dinner,” said Darcy smoothly.

  “You are smiling, Colonel?”

  “Only to demonstrate that I am in full agreement with my cousin, here,” said the colonel, a twinkle in his eye as he raised his brows at Darcy, who frowned repressively back at him.

  After the flurry of seating themselves was over, Darcy leaned back in his chair and looked at Elizabeth as he twirled his wine glass by its stem. “So, I gather that Meryton has not escaped the rains?” he said.

  “Unfortunately not,” she replied. “We had a bad time of it last year and this year we are expecting a late harvest - also severely reduced. And the weather up here in Derbyshire?”