“Mr Darcy, I understand the anguish you have suffered, but if you wish for anything more between us, then you must know I will not give my hand to anyone who does not first have my heart.”
“Believe me when I say, I am elated at the opportunity to learn all I can of you, Miss Elizabeth, and if all you give me is the chance to get to know you, then it will be worth the journey that has brought me to Hertfordshire today.”
“I must confess, I was taken aback when you walked into the Assembly last evening, sir. The image I had in my mind of the gentleman who was sending me the flowers was exactly what you looked like, though I did not know until today why that was, and it caused me such distress that I needed some air. That is why I was outside before you, and why I did not reveal myself from the shadows when you first arrived.”
He felt his cheeks blush just a little and the corner of his lips turn up ever so slightly. “And has what you have learned of me since then changed your opinion of my character?”
“Truly, I did not know your character at all. I imagined you to be a soulful gentleman who was in need of a cheerful smile to change your demeanor.”
“I think that is it exactly, Miss Elizabeth,” He dearly wished to add that he had now found the person who he hoped would always do just that for him, but he did not want to frighten her with such deep sentiments so early in their acquaintance. They could hear the others approaching, so he stood and offered to walk with her to meet them before the gentlemen must take their leave.
Elizabeth was seated on the bench that ran circular around the base of the tree — the same tree that, just yesterday, she and Mr Darcy sat beneath while discussing their situations. She now sat with her journal in her hands, the early morning stillness evoking a torrent of emotions inside her. Normally these would be from her choice of novel, though this morning it was more real-life than she could have ever dreamed possible.
She was humming a simple tune when she was interrupted by the familiar, loving words of her father coming up behind her.
“This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath...”
She smiled and looked down at the book laid open in her lap, repeating the rest of Shakespeare’s line from Romeo and Juliet, “May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek, the familiar roughness of his chin rubbing slightly against her delicate skin and making it tickle. “You received a delivery this morning, and I thought it best to intercept these and bring them to you myself.” He held out a small bundle of gorgeous, and familiar, blue flowers, tied with a yellow ribbon.
Elizabeth reached her hand out, slowly taking the gift from her father’s hand and raising the buds to her nose. When she closed her eyes and drew in the sweet smelling aroma, everything around her faded except the remembrance of his voice as he told of his desire to only see her smile. And smile she did, then she looked back to her father, “Thank you, Papa.”
Mr Bennet indicated the seat beside her, “May I?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” She gathered the various items she had laying there, closing her journal and placing the pencil back in her reticule. When he was seated, she drew the blanket draped over her own legs up over his as well.
“I believe I may have to speak with your beau again. With such particular attention, your mother is likely to see his potential as a suitor much earlier than he may desire.”
She giggled, drawing her arm through his and leaning onto his shoulder, “Oh, Papa—he is not my beau.”
“You cannot convince me of that—nor of your honestly believing it.” He sat quietly at her side, both looking out over the garden as the early morning sun played against the dew drops causing the flowers to glisten in the reflection.
“You know,” he finally said quietly through the stillness, “it was not that long ago when I too was trying to turn the eye a fine lady. I was nearly fourteen and remember well my father’s chastisement when he saw the state in which I returned home, after having fallen into the mud in my new breeches and powdered wig. They were to be worn for our portrait that was to be painted the following month.”
Elizabeth chuckled at his tale, but did not interrupt him.
“It was on our way to London to purchase another wig that he told me something I feel I must now pass along to you. My child, you cannot help where your heart leads, and when the timing is right, and the proper opportunity presents itself before you, do not hesitate in accepting what fate has given you.” Again he did not speak for a minute, then said quietly, “I did not follow my father’s advice, and you see where it has led me this day.”
“What do you mean Papa?”
“It would not do to have you think I despise your mother, but I cannot deceive myself, or you, in saying she was my first choice. In not following where my heart led at the time when I could have made a more agreeable match, I was left to the machinations of the neighborhood matrons and found myself with a heavy expectation that I would marry your mother. So, after seeing the lady to whom I had lost my heart marry another, I decided your mother was all I deserved.”
Elizabeth did not know what to say to such a declaration. So she sat in silence by his side.
His words gave an insight into why such cynicism had become his way over the years. She was determined to do just as he said and marry only for the deepest love, and she had a feeling she had already lost her heart to the tall and soulful gentleman from Derbyshire. The biggest question was, had he lost his heart to her as well, or was he only in need of a friendly shoulder to lean upon in this time of mourning?
These were thoughts that would plague her for many more days as rain hindered the Netherfield visitors from returning.
It was nearly a week later when Elizabeth saw part of their party at the dinner soiree held at Lucas Lodge, but Mr Darcy and his cousin were not among them. Mr Bingley gave his excuses, saying the colonel was compelled to return to London and Mr Darcy had ridden with him, but assured her that his friend would return within in a few days’ time.
Elizabeth was left to spend the remainder of her evening in the company of the officers of the regiment that would quarter near Meryton until the spring. She found them all to be a decent distraction from her thoughts, though her eye was not turned by their seducing ways. Some were a little too solicitous of her younger sisters’ fluttering eyelashes, and Elizabeth determined to speak with her father over their flirtatious habits. Though, in all honestly, she did not expect anything to change. He was not one to take his daughters to task, even when the situation warranted a firm hand.
One officer in particular caught her attention that evening, though she hardly exchanged more than a few words with him. Mr Wickham smiled at those in attendance and danced with a few ladies in their turn, but his eyes showed sadness in them, similar to what she saw in Mr Darcy. She was unsure what he had been through, but was certain he too had a story to tell of a past rife with painful memories, perhaps even of love lost.
When she was finally alone with her thoughts late that night, Jane already asleep after an evening spent at the side of Mr Bingley, Elizabeth sat at her writing table and penned by candlelight an anguishing tale where her imagination was allowed to run wild. Though she would not admit it, even to herself, many of the feelings told of the heroine were actually felt by her towards Mr Darcy.
The following morning, while Jane and Mary joined Mrs Bennet on her weekly visit to her sister’s house in Meryton, a few of the officers arrived at Longbourn to pay a call on the young Misses Bennet.
Mr Bennet, even after being told of the behavior of his youngest two daughters the previous evening at Lucas Lodge, was not given to much civility today and, after just a few minutes of exchanged pleasantries, he shooed his girls and their visitors out to the garden, returning to his contemplation of whatever tome captured his fancy this morning.
Elizabeth would not leave Kitty and Lydia alone with such gentlemen, so she made a point of following after them closely. As the group walked
on, Mr Wickham separated himself from the others and was soon walking quietly beside Elizabeth.
Eventually they made their way to the swing that hung from a large tree, Elizabeth and the lieutenant watching the others in silence.
Finally she spoke, “You are rather quiet, sir.”
He shrugged, “Would you rather me give you pleasantries and platitudes in which neither of us are drawn, simply for the ability to say we were civil?”
“It might pass the time adequately, though if you would prefer, we shan’t waste our time.”
He turned to face her. “I must apologize. It is not my nature to be given to much frivolity these days.”
“You speak as though there is a burden that weighs your soul, sir.”
“Yes... yes there is.” He turned again to watch the others.
Elizabeth also turned her attention back to the others, giving the gentleman beside her the silence he evidently required at this time. Her mind began to wander, and it was several more minutes before she saw something in his eye, in watching the others, that she thought could be a clue to his melancholy. There was the sadness again—just like the evening before. She was certain he was hiding something deep within his soul that kept him bound to a serious nature that was contrary to his natural ways.
Her thoughts were interrupted with the vision of a rider approaching Longbourn. She would know that rider anywhere—it was Mr Darcy.
He dismounted and saw the group congregated in the garden, so he gave the reins to the stable boy and turned in their direction, his long legs making quick strides, especially when he realized Elizabeth stood beside an unknown soldier.
As he arrived, Elizabeth greeted him warmly, “Good day to you, sir. We did not expect to see you for several more days.”
Mr Wickham heard the approach of another, and when Elizabeth spoke to the new visitor, he turned, coming face to face with a gentleman he never expected to see again, much less today and in a garden in Hertfordshire. His face went white as he said in shock, “Darcy!”
“Wickham!” Darcy’s own cheeks turned red with fury, and he stepped a little closer to Elizabeth’s side.
“Are you already acquainted?” Elizabeth noticed the shocked look on both of their faces.
“Yes,” was all Darcy would say.
“I... I... that is... it is time we be on our way.” The lieutenant bowed to Elizabeth, then turned to his comrades saying, “I fear we have overstayed our welcome and it is time we are back to our duties.”
The three soldiers took their leave and were soon gone, leaving a petulant Kitty and Lydia in their wake for having gone so quickly. Both the sisters blamed Mr Darcy’s arrival, and left the garden to commiserate in their room, leaving Elizabeth and her visitor alone.
Darcy stood in shock even still, his eyes trailing after the three red coats that were now so far in the distance they could hardly be seen.
“Mr Darcy? Sir?” Elizabeth could not get his attention. Finally, she placed her hand on his arm, “Mr Darcy?”
At the contact of her hand on his arm, he turned towards her.
“Are you well, sir? Truly, you look as if you have seen a specter.”
“I never thought to see him again,” he mumbled.
“He is well known to you?”
“Mr Wickham was the son of my father’s steward. We grew up together at Pemberley and were almost as close as brothers at one time.”
She was unsure how such news could cause the harsh reaction both gentlemen bestowed. Seeing that Mr Darcy was not going to willingly add anything more, she asked, “Did you have a falling out?”
He shifted on his feet in an agitated manner, stating, “We were intimately acquainted all our lives. Though I am four years his senior, we did go to the same schools and spent every summer and many holidays at Pemberley. My father thought so highly of Mr Wickham’s father that he bestowed his generosity on the son. However, after my father’s death, I no longer heard from him with any regularity. The last time we spoke was when he showed up to ask for the hand of my sixteen year old sister. He was the reason we had such a row and why I sent her off to Pemberley alone. Then I never saw...” He could not finish the statement as tears welled in his eyes and his voice caught in his throat.
“You need not say anything more, sir.” Elizabeth looked around, and, seeing her favorite spot underneath the tree, she asked, “Would you like to sit for a few minutes?”
“Yes, thank you.” He followed her to the bench and sat, leaning his arms down on his knees heavily, his hands flexing through his dark curls. The hat he had put on the bench beside him sat precariously close to the edge.
Elizabeth reached over and repositioned it so it would not fall, then slid around to the opposite side of the tree to give the gentleman his privacy. As she was sitting there, a thought came to her, so she stood and went to gather some flowers. Not having a ribbon in her pocket, she carefully undid her hair and twisted it up again inside her bonnet, then used the ribbon from her hair to tie the flowers into a small bundle. It was not yellow, as he seemed to prefer, and as she suspected had some connection to his sister’s preferences, but the dark purple ribbon would have to do.
She then returned to the tree and stood in front of him.
Darcy saw her boots appear in his line of sight and, glad for the interruption to his thoughts, he looked up at her.
Elizabeth held the flowers out to him, “Flowers always make me smile as well, and I hope they have the same effect on you.”
He felt the weight on his shoulders begin to release immediately and his lips twitched at their need to lift, even just a little.
Though it was not a completely jovial reaction, it was more than Elizabeth had ever seen from the gentleman. Her task completed, she gave him a smile in return and said, “I pray your cousin’s business in Town will not keep him from our neighborhood for too long. My mother was growing quite fond of his presence.”
Darcy breathed heavily, letting it out slowly, then straightened his shoulders and reached for his hat, placing it back on his head as he stood. “Unfortunately, he is unable to return, as his duties to the Crown call him back to London for at least the remainder of the year.”
He held out his arm, “Would you care to accompany me around the garden before I must go and meet with your father?”
Elizabeth smiled, winding her arm around his and resting her hand on the sinewy muscles felt through the thick wool of his coat. “It would give me great pleasure to do so, sir.” As they walked, she asked, “Would you care to hear the details of the soiree at Lucas Lodge that you missed last evening?”
“If you wish to tell me, then I shall bear it dutifully.”
“I promise not to speak of lace and shoe roses, but I make no promises beyond that, sir,” she teased.
“Even lace would seem an interesting subject when coming from your lips, Miss Elizabeth.”
The two continued on around the garden, then Elizabeth led him through Longbourn and to her father’s study. When she left the two alone to return to her room, they were seated across from each other, the chess board laid out between them. She had a feeling there was more to the story of Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham than what she knew, and she was determined to find out what had really happened between the two.
The gentlemen from Netherfield visited Longbourn as often as they could spare without forgetting the rest of the neighborhood. Mr Bingley and Jane were the perfect match for each other, and the neighborhood’s expectations of a wedding before the end of the year was the topic of every drawing room. The couple’s every encounter was scrutinized by the matrons, each giving such details as a possible flirtation given with Miss Bennet’s fan or a simple raise of Mr Bingley’s eyebrow from across the room towards her direction. The matrons were living out their dearest fantasies in the love affair they were certain would lead to a proposal soon enough.
Bingley and Jane were, themselves, truly in love, so they did not mind the looks and comments from everyone else
, mostly because they did not notice anyone but their lover when in each other’s company.
Elizabeth’s romance with Mr Darcy was quite different. The two felt a connection from the start, and she was convinced it was truly love. Though he never spoke of his own feelings, nor gave any indication what he wished for their future, she was certain he felt just as she did and was only in need of some more time to fulfill his mourning period.
Darcy would often go to Longbourn to play chess with Mr Bennet. Elizabeth found great pleasure in joining them when her mother would allow it, or in walking in the garden when the gentleman needed to stretch his legs after sitting in front of the chessboard for a long while.
She wished, above all else, to make him smile again. The moments of his gaiety were few and far between though, and mostly when the two were just talking alone in the garden. Finding ways to make the corners of his lips rise, even just a modest amount, became a challenge she was willing to undertake. He had taken to coming especially on the days Mrs Bennet would be gone to Meryton for a few hours, as he was assured some time alone with Elizabeth.
So it was that the weeks wore on, the chill of the Hertfordshire air becoming colder, alerting Darcy constantly of the passage of time since their arrival six weeks before and reminding him that he could not remain hidden away in Hertfordshire forever.
Bingley was wooing the neighborhood as much as he was Jane, and with the announcement of their engagement, he decided a celebration must be had. And so the preparations were soon underway for a Ball the likes of which the neighborhood of Meryton had not seen in many years.
Joseph was no longer the one to deliver Darcy’s flowers to Elizabeth—instead he dutifully took on the task himself. They were given with no particular regularity, but Elizabeth did start to notice that he tended to show up with a posy in his hand for her on the days when his eyes were dark and sunken. She wondered if he agonized over his loss instead of sleep the nights before. For now she just gave him every opportunity she could to have a moment of peace, and smiled whenever she could, hoping to draw him out. Some nights her jaw hurt from smiling so much, and she teased Jane that perhaps she was not made for such merriment, unlike her sister who never stopped smiling. She tested out several theories with her reactions, each being a different level of enjoyment, and found that Mr Darcy always reacted just the same—as if he took great pleasure simply in her joy, no matter the level of joy she showed.
Whispered Kisses Page 5