Elizabeth and Darcy- Ardently Yours

by Evangeline Wright

  “I believe I am acquainted with your character well enough, Miss Bennet, to know any attempt to intimidate you would be in vain. At most, I might provoke you to profess opinions not your own—in that arena, your accomplishment suffers no deficiency.”

  Elizabeth was cut deeply by his words. Was it not enough for him to spurn her company? Must he make a point of pursuing her with his censure? She gave a nervous laugh. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, your cousin would teach you not to believe a word I say. He expects me to retaliate, I suppose, with some disparaging remark on his behavior.”

  “Pray tell what you have to accuse him of,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam eagerly. “I should like to know how he behaves among strangers.”

  “I am sorry to disappoint you, but there I cannot oblige. Any reproach of Mr. Darcy’s conduct in Hertfordshire should only satisfy his notions of my own insincerity. For I cannot claim to have witnessed anything but the strictest propriety from his quarter.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “Strict propriety! That sounds like Darcy.”

  “Is he always so serious, then?” With relief, Elizabeth ceded responsibility for continuing the conversation to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mr. Darcy, however, looked rather uncomfortable with this change in topic.

  “Oh, yes – even when we were boys. My brother and I used to amuse ourselves in church by attempting to make him laugh. One Sunday, I brought a snake in my pocket and dangled it above our aunt’s head during the Lord’s Prayer.”

  “And did he laugh?” The gentleman in question looked little amused at the moment.

  “No, indeed. He took the snake away from me and made such a fuss that our uncle caught us—or I should say he caught Darcy, for by then the creature was in his possession. My good cousin took both the blame and the thrashing for the whole affair.”

  “I wonder that you have not suffered his implacable resentment ever since,” she teased lightly.

  “I might have at that, had dear cousin Anne not revealed the truth of the matter. As it was, Darcy could hardly resent me, for I received two thrashings to his one—the first for the snake, and the second for shirking the blame! But so it still is with Darcy—he always takes prodigious care of his friends, even if he would serve them better by letting them take their lumps.”

  “Mr. Darcy is all generosity, it would seem.” Elizabeth recalled the fond words of his housekeeper at Pemberley: They who are good-natured when children, are good-natured when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world. If only he would see fit to extend the same generosity to her!

  She looked pointedly at him. “How fortunate you are, Mr. Darcy, to possess so few faults of your own that you would readily take up the burden of others’ offenses! I am sure I could not be so kind. I must warn you, Colonel Fitzwilliam, to attempt no such pranks at my expense, for I have sins enough of my own without assuming the guilt of family or friends.”

  Mr. Darcy looked as though he would speak, but at that moment, Lady Catherine interrupted by imperiously demanding Colonel Fitzwilliam to attend her at once. The gentleman rose from his seat beside Elizabeth with a rueful smile. “I find myself in complete accord, Miss Bennet. It would be exceedingly cruel to be made to answer for all my relations’ behavior.” With an apologetic glance indicating his formidable aunt, he left Elizabeth alone in the company of Mr. Darcy.

  Unable to find her place in the music, she began the piece again from the introduction. She could not fault Colonel Fitzwilliam’s musical taste, but the piece of his choosing exceeded Elizabeth’s skill, and Mr. Darcy’s watchful presence did little to aid her execution. She struggled through only a few measures before Mr. Darcy broke his silence.

  “I will not deny that I feel an obligation to guard the interests of those close to me. But surely, you have met with some who would not call me generous.”

  Elizabeth had no doubt that he referred to Mr. Wickham. Considering how she had fared when last attempting to discuss that man’s history, she had no desire to broach the subject again. A quick retreat seemed in order, and she adopted an innocent smile.

  “To the contrary, Mr. Darcy, I hear such unvarying reports of you as to satisfy me entirely. Your own cousin has just related such a tale of intrepidity—wrangling serpents in a house of God, no less! Why, children must sing your exploits in the lanes of Derbyshire. Indeed, I dare not dispute such illustrious charity, and I beg you not to feel obligated to prove it by extending any to me.”

  Elizabeth launched into a lively air from memory, thus declaring an end to the conversation. After standing there long moments, during which Elizabeth stubbornly refused to meet his gaze, Mr. Darcy withdrew to attend his aunt and cousins. She was able to avoid further encounters with him for the remainder of the evening, but he occupied her thoughts to the exclusion of all else.

  Elizabeth mourned her inability to laugh away his slights. Whenever she resolved to grant the infuriating man no further consideration, another reason to esteem him would surface. She could resign herself to being despised by the likes of Lady Catherine or Miss Bingley, for she held them likewise in low regard. It was altogether different to suffer the disapproval of an individual impervious to any meaningful censure. His proud manner notwithstanding, Elizabeth’s estimation of Mr. Darcy as a man of inherent decency as yet encountered no contradiction. If she consulted her feelings closely, she was forced to account the pain she suffered from his reproaches to her own deepening admiration of him.

  A more hopeless case could not be found. By Mr. Darcy’s own admission, his good opinion once lost was lost forever. As disheartening as it was to lose his friendship, Elizabeth consoled herself with the knowledge that mere friendship was all she could ever expect from such a man. Perhaps it was best that she be denied his acquaintance on any level, rather than suffer the disappointed hopes that should otherwise inevitably follow. Mr. Darcy was welcome to protect his notions of propriety; she should do well to likewise guard her heart.

  Darcy did not know why he was surprised to encounter Miss Elizabeth Bennet at Rosings. He knew that her sister had pursued Bingley to London, and he had been sufficiently concerned for his friend to conspire with Miss Bingley to keep the information secret. It only made sense that Mrs. Bennet should take any opportunity to again recommend her second daughter as a potential mistress of Pemberley. An evening of Miss Elizabeth’s arch comments, however, convinced Darcy she was an unwilling participant in any such plot. Once again, her open demeanor with another man—this time his own cousin—made a painful contrast to her behavior toward him.

  While Darcy was gratified to understand that Miss Bennet personally had no designs on his fortune, that her own complicity in any scheme was limited to the misfortune of her birth into such a family, disappointment tainted his relief. For he had not been able to forget her in the four months since quitting Netherfield, and meeting with her again this evening had sealed the impression. She was, undoubtedly, the most intriguing woman of his acquaintance, and worse, inconveniently attractive. Nothing improved her fine eyes more than the spark of proud indignation, and he seemed helpless to avoid provoking her displeasure simply to delight in their beauty. Darcy found himself completely bewitched by her, despite her evident dislike of him.

  Perhaps it was best, given their vastly different stations. They would remain in close proximity for only a matter of days; Darcy imagined he could enjoy the acquaintance without risking her feelings. Miss Elizabeth Bennet could not have stated more clearly that her heart was safe from him; he relied on his sense of duty and propriety to protect his own.

  Chapter Six

  Rosings Park

  In following days, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam called frequently at the parsonage. Elizabeth could not imagine why Mr. Darcy would willingly seek her company, but she supposed the scarcity of diversions at Rosings must be the primary reason. Evidently her society compared favorably to that of Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh, but that compliment was slight at best.
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  Colonel Fitzwilliam’s manners were admired by all at Hunsford, and he amiably conversed with Elizabeth and her hosts. Whatever drew Mr. Darcy to accompany him on these visits, however, it was clearly not a desire for conversation. The gentleman spoke rarely and reluctantly. The surest way to close a topic to further discussion was to solicit Mr. Darcy’s opinion of it.

  While he preferred to haunt the corner of the sitting room and say little, Mr. Darcy continued to stare at Elizabeth determinedly. By now, she was becoming immune to the sensation and had, for the most part, ceased attempting to discern the thoughts behind his stern expression. If Mr. Darcy was resolved to note her every fault, there seemed little Elizabeth could do to dissuade him. Once, during one of Mr. Collins’ grandiloquent turns, her gaze caught his, and the suggestion of a smile flickered across Mr. Darcy’s grave countenance—a glimmer of the gentleman she had begun to know at Netherfield. She excused it, however, as amusement at her cousin’s prattle, or perhaps only absence of mind.

  During her ramble in the park one morning, Elizabeth met with Mr. Darcy by chance. He seemed as disconcerted as she by this unfortunate coincidence, and she mentioned her preference for that particular grove so that he might avoid her in the future. How strange, then, that she should meet with him there again the following day! On this occasion, Mr. Darcy did not seem at all surprised to cross paths with her, and he did not make polite greetings and take his leave quickly, but insisted on walking her back to the parsonage.

  “Mr. Darcy, I assure you, I am capable of finding my own way back to Hunsford.”

  When he did not answer, Elizabeth was exasperated. The man seemed perfectly content to dance in silence, walk in silence—perhaps, she imagined, Mr. Darcy suffered from some mysterious affliction that prevented him from moving both his lips and his feet simultaneously. Well, if he would punish her with his presence, she would exact the price of some conversation in return.

  “On further reflection, I suppose I ought to express gratitude for your escort. Your cousin’s tale the other day alerts me to the potential dangers of Rosings Park. Who should guess these pleasant meadows and groves to harbor pernicious snakes?”

  “My cousin tends to exaggerate in his enthusiasm, Miss Bennet. The creature in question was a rather pitiful excuse for a snake. It would hardly warrant your alarm.”

  “What became of it, I wonder?”

  “The snake?” Mr. Darcy shot her a quizzical expression. “I hardly remember. I daresay I let it escape.”

  “Once again, sir, your renowned charity shames my own behavior. My own childhood quarries were not so fortunate.”

  “Did you catch snakes, then?” Mr. Darcy’s tone was all astonishment, and Elizabeth delighted in this opportunity to further scandalize his notions of strict propriety.

  “Oh, no! Never snakes. Only frogs and toads, you see. I once stowed away a frog in the drawer of my father’s desk, but—as I intimated just now—he was not so fortunate as your snake, for he did not survive the experience.”

  Mr. Darcy looked askance at her, and Elizabeth continued blithely. “I see you are reluctant, sir, to inquire as to the particulars of my poor frog’s demise, but I shall enlighten you just the same. When my dear father opened the drawer, the creature made an impressive leap for freedom. It was simple bad luck that he landed in a steaming cup of tea.”

  At this, her companion stifled a strange sort of cough. Elizabeth wondered if Mr. Darcy’s affliction also affected his capacity for real laughter. Would he even recognize the sound if it escaped him?

  “Tragic, to be sure,” he said, once his composure was intact. “But I expect your father did not thrash you for it.”

  “No, indeed. I was, however, made to copy out a lengthy passage of Milton. ‘Satan there they found, squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve…’ and so forth.”

  “I should have preferred that punishment, myself.”

  “Then I know the perfect passage,” she said. “The serpent, ‘suttlest beast of all the field.’ If you care to attempt it, a copy resides in Mr. Collins’ library.”

  “I will politely decline,” he replied in a light tone that Elizabeth might have mistaken for teasing, had she not known better. “For your sake, I hope Mr. Collins’ library is better supplied than Mr. Bingley’s.”

  “It is. Though predictably, its contents tend toward sermons and other moralistic fare.”

  They lapsed into silence for a few moments, and the pause in their discourse gave Elizabeth the opportunity to marvel at its very existence. To think, she and Mr. Darcy had sustained a civil conversation for a duration of some minutes! Furthermore, the gentleman seemed inclined to continue it of his own volition.

  “Mr. Collins seems very fortunate in his choice of a wife.”

  Perhaps the pleasant exchange would end here, she considered. Elizabeth knew the proper reply would be some benign comment on the prudence of the match and the couple’s mutual felicity, but such would not reflect her honest opinion. No, she decided, she would not attempt to purchase Mr. Darcy’s approval through mindless agreement in the manner of Miss Bingley. If he wished to walk with her, and furthermore converse with her, he ought to be aware that her true feelings would not be repressed.

  “I cannot deny that is a beneficial match for both, but I am inclined to place all the good fortune on Mr. Collins’ side. Charlotte is a dear friend, and I should judge any man fortunate to marry her. I cannot count any woman as fortunate, however, when she is led to accept a gentleman not on the basis of affection or respect, but solely for her own security. I know such arrangements are common enough, but I would wish better for my friend.”

  Elizabeth thought Mr. Darcy’s lack of response signaled that she had once again offended his sensibilities with her forthrightness. When she ventured a glance in his direction, however, his countenance appeared merely pensive.

  “Although, now that I have seen her settled at Hunsford,” she continued, “I am pleased to discover that Charlotte seems perfectly happy. However tepid their affection for one another, she and Mr. Collins seem united in deepest passion for her ladyship’s patronage. When two share a devotion to some greater purpose, I suppose their individual eccentricities fade into insignificance.”

  “In any event, I expect your friend is happy to be settled so near her family. There are but fifty miles of good road between here and Meryton; it is little more than a half-day’s journey.”

  “Near her family?” Elizabeth laughed. It amused her that such a wealthy gentleman of the world as Mr. Darcy should possess his own particular sort of naiveté. “Fifty miles may be a short distance to those of means, perhaps, but Mr. and Mrs. Collins’ income is not so ample as to permit frequent visits. I am convinced my friend would not consider herself near her family by any definition.”

  “Surely, for one who has never ventured beyond her own neighborhood, anything more than a few miles might seem a great distance. But you, Miss Bennet, have had the benefit of travel. Would you always wish to be so near Longbourn?”

  His question was one Elizabeth had pondered herself, and she wished she could reward his perception with a more decided answer. Before her trips to the Peak District and now Kent, she would have been content to always remain in Hertfordshire. Watching Charlotte depart after her wedding, however, Elizabeth had felt an unexpected swell of envy. She was not jealous of her friend’s husband or situation, of course, but she felt a queer resentment that Charlotte’s life was in motion while her own stood still.

  “Yours is not an easy question to answer, Mr. Darcy. I am very fond of my home, to be sure. But sometimes it seems that affection improves with separation. When I traveled with my aunt and uncle to the Peak District last summer, we stopped at Dovedale. I assume you are familiar with its beauty?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, as we followed the windings of the river, each bend in the path afforded a uniquely charming prospect. However, I regretted that we were always prevented, by the narrow and to
rtuous nature of the valley, from appreciating the whole. Only by climbing the bluffs nearby could we admire the stunning landscape in its totality. I have since concluded that distance inspires a deeper admiration in some cases, with people as well as nature. Only this morning, I found myself missing the chatter of blackbirds outside my window at Longbourn, though weeks ago I cursed their daybreak discord. When I leave Kent, I expect I shall embrace my family and friends in Hertfordshire all the more eagerly for having been parted from them.”

  Here they reached a point in the lane where, by turning and traversing the park, they might take the most direct route toward the parsonage. Mr. Darcy did not veer from the path, however, but kept walking forward. Whether he was merely distracted or deliberately prolonging their conversation, Elizabeth dared not guess, but she was of no mind to change course, herself.

  “Of course, I have only been absent from my home for a few weeks. It must be different for a gentleman like yourself, who travels freely from London to Hertfordshire to Kent and so forth. You must be rarely in residence at your own estate.”

  “Indeed, far less than I would like,” he said. “It has been several months since I have stopped there more than a few days, and then only to attend to estate business. I imagine it is a greater burden on my sister. Her illness and recovery have kept her in London for the better part of a year, and I know she is eager to return to Pemberley. I would wish her to become comfortable in town, however, for soon she will be introduced to society and spend the full season there.”

  “Is she to come out this year, then?”

  “No. The next, perhaps. She is but sixteen.”

  “That is rather young, for full presentation to society.”

  “Your youngest sisters are of an age with my own, and they are out.”