She knelt gracefully, her hand outstretched. She held her hand perfectly still as the small squirrel pecked at it gingerly. He was mesmerized by the sight, wondering how this slip of a girl could have a wild animal eat so readily out of her hand. He formed some faint half-thought that, were it up to him, he would be just as eager to eat out of her hand.
She was small and very slender, with dark curls that had come undone from their careful bun by the afternoon wind. Her fingers were long, like her soft neck. Her back was straight and regal, and her shoulders seemed delicate under the fabric of her modest gown.
He could not make out her face from his current position, and moved quietly, stealthily, so as not to disturb either the girl or her furry guest, to a spot that afforded a better view. Her nose was small and upturned, crinked in the adorable expression of delight she was wearing. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes shone brightly with her excitement.
He admired those fine orbs for several moments before allowing his own eyes to continue their study. Her waist was slim, but turned into well-rounded hips below and a noticeable bosom above. He was suddenly hot, and felt his cheeks flushing. She was a young girl, much younger than him, but she was already a woman, as his treacherous body noted at once. Perhaps seventeen years of age?
At three and twenty, Fitzwilliam Darcy had deplorably limited experience with women. Decorated ladies in ballrooms, simpering horsewomen in Hyde Park, friends' sisters eager to demonstrate their accomplishments – his interactions with the fairer sex had always been so contrived, that nothing had prepared him for the incandescent pleasure of seeing a beautiful girl at ease with nature, smiling brilliantly to herself. He was a grown man, and he dreamed, longed, yearned for women, had admired their elegant decolletages in those blasted ballrooms, had allowed his gaze to linger on the heaving bosoms of the simpering horsewomen, had taken pleasure in his friends' sisters' accomplishments on the pianoforte. But he was a gentleman, taught by his father never to raise unwanted expectations in gentlewomen, never to take advantage of girls from the working classes, and never to risk his own health in the types of establishments frequented by his classmates in Cambridge. Spending his years at university and his summers a Pemberley with his father, he was still too young to be lured by the only safe way to experience physical intimacy outside of a marriage: in the arms of a willing widow with whom one has an exclusive relationship.
And so for years, pleasures of the flesh remained something he dreamed of hazily at night and thought on in those dark hours alone in his room with his right hand. But now, confronted with a vision of a young, healthy, beautiful girl with that open and honest expression, with those genuine and unrestricted movements, so flesh and blood, so woman, he could not look away. Who was this mesmerizing creature? Was she a daughter of one the Pemberley tenants? Was she a mythical nymph making her home in his familial woods? To him, she was Gaia, goddess of the earth.
He blushed at the tightening in his breeches, and determined that he had trespassed on her privacy long enough. He turned and was about to make his exit, as unseen as he had arrived. To his mortification, right at that moment, the girl noticed his presence and gasped.
"Sir!" She stood quickly, and smoothed her hands over her skirt, righting herself.
"Forgive me, madam." He bowed formally to her, hoping that she would not notice his quickly subsiding discomfort. "I did not mean to startle you." She was looking at him apprehensively, fear and uncertainly in her lovely dark eyes. He sought to allay her concern. "Fitzwilliam Darcy at your service, madam."
If possible, her expression seemed only to turn more worried, not less. "I am sorry, sir, I did not mean to trespass or inconvenience you. It appears that I have wondered too far from my party, I shall rejoin them at once. Good day, sir." She gave him a deep curtsey.
He did not feel ready to let her walk away, and against his better judgment, called after her. "Miss?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I did not mean to interrupt your outing, please stay."
"Truly, sir, I should not be here all by myself. My aunt and uncle must be worried."
"Are you here on a tour?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then allow me to escort you back to your aunt and uncle. Where did you last see them? I will know the way, I live on this estate."
"I know, sir," she whispered, blushing. "I saw your portrait in the gallery during our tour."
The heightened color of her cheeks made her face appear more youthful and even prettier, and he smiled at her blush, wondering if she found his portrait handsome. He rather liked the thought of her finding him to be pleasing.
"And may I have the honor of knowing your name, madam?"
"Elizabeth Bennet," she murmured demurely, not looking up.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet. I see you have enraptured one of my squirrels earlier."
He had sought to put her at ease with his teasing, but it had apparently been a mistake. Her eyes widened comically. "You saw that?"
"Yes, and it was rather impressive. I have never been able to have a wild animal trust me so completely."
"Have you tried?" She looked up at him with a spark of curiosity in her lovely eyes that made her look even younger. He wondered now at his initial assessment. While her slim figure had all the right tantalizing curves, certain movements and expressions struck him as more youthful than those of a seventeen-year-old girl. He sternly reminded himself not to think on her figure, feeling his cheeks heat at the new wave of desire.
It appeared that his thoughts had another negative consequence, as the girl dropped her eyes and once again turned shy at his lack of response. "Forgive me, sir, that was very improper of me to ask. Indeed, I know I have acted improperly today, and I beg your pardon. I should not have wondered alone on your land, nor spoken so freely. My mother often tells me –"
"Please, Miss Bennet, do not be concerned. I have found your actions perfectly proper, only a little refreshing. My, or should I say my father's, lands are always welcome for your rambles, and I would be honored to be permitted to share in your adventures. Perhaps you could teach me how to tame squirrels?"
She laughed, an open, unconstrained, tinkling sound so unlike the artificial giggles he had heard from ladies in the past. It was the most delightful sound, and he yearned to make her laugh again and again.
He offered her his arm, and suggested that they walk to the fishing pond, where he knew the tour to often lead, and where he thought they might find her relations.
Having put the young girl at ease, Darcy marveled at the depth and scope of her conversation. They spoke of books, of plants, of philosophy, and of forest critters. She was well informed, lively, and engaging. She spoke her opinions freely, but did not hold onto them overly firmly. She debated with the enthusiasm of a young and curious soul, eager to listen and learn, a trait that he both wholeheartedly admired and shared.
"You take an interest in great many subjects, Miss Bennet," he complimented her. "I cannot say that I have met many ladies with interests as diverse as yours."
She looked uncomfortable at his praise. "I am sorry, sir. I hope I did not offend you. I know that when I come out in two months, I will have to restrict myself to more ladylike endeavors."
Had he had time to reflect on her words, he would have found the missing piece of the puzzle that would reconcile the seeming contradiction of her animated and outgoing self with her occasional shy reticence. The girl was about to come out, and had been instilled with fear and concern over this transition from child to woman, over having to abandon her girlhood pursuits for the restrictive strictures of ladylike behavior.
But he was too surprised to reflect. He blurted out the first thing that had come to mind. "You are not yet out?"
She shook her head.
Perplexed, he spoke without thinking, regretting the impropriety of his words as soon as they came out. "Pray, how old are you, Miss Bennet?"
"I am not yet sixteen, sir," She replied, blushing.
He was shocked, having assumed her to be seventeen from her looks, and having subsequently grown confident in that assessment after hearing her converse so intelligently on such a wide variety of subjects. He mastered himself enough to push back his surprise and comfort his companion. "Forgive me, Miss Bennet, it was highly improper of me to ask. I was merely surprised that one so young has engaged in such extensive reading. I command you."
She smiled at him brightly. "I thank you, sir. I love to read, and my father has always encouraged me to broaden my mind. I think, sometimes, that he has treated me as the son he never had. I do hope that my coming out does not change that overly much."
"I hope so too," he murmured, looking deep into her large brown eyes.
He would always wonder what turn their tete-a-tete would have taken at that point, had they not been interrupted by the rustling of leaves nearby. Turning towards the noise, they saw his cousin, the Viscount Bradville, eldest son of the Earl of Matlock, walking away while righting his clothing. He was soon followed by a young girl whom Darcy knew to be Sally, one of the Pemberley kitchen maids.
Darcy was torn between the feeling of indignation towards his cousin for taking advantage of one of the staff and the wave of embarrassment at having the fifteen-year-old girl beside him witness such a spectacle. He blushed furiously as he turned to face her, wondering how he would assuage her maidenly sensibilities.
As he turned towards her, however, Darcy was surprised to notice that Elizabeth's face was red not with coy embarrassment but with burning rage.
She let out a quiet curse, bawling her lovely long fingers into tight fists. "Dastardly, selfish, chauvinistic man!"
Darcy was taken aback by the vehemence of her response, and the words falling out of her mouth, words he had never heard from a lady before.
"Miss Bennet, I am sorry that you had to witness that –"
She turned towards him, her eyes flashing and her cheeks flushed. "You are sorry? Well, I am not! I only wish he had seen that he was noticed, and at least felt some modicum of shame. It seems that that is the only way for men to ever to be ashamed – when their indiscretions are revealed in public."
She quickly collected herself, and looked away. "I apologize for my outburst, sir. Pray, let us continue."
He readily gave her his arm, responding: "And I am terribly sorry for the distress that witnessing my cousin's behavior has caused you, Miss Bennet. It was unpardonable and you have every right to take offense. I will have to speak with my father. These kinds of things are not to be supported on Pemberley land."
"On Pemberley land?" She looked up at him with something akin to hurt and disappointment, and he instantly felt ashamed, despite not knowing what he had done to offend her. "Is that all that concerns you? That there should be no scandal on your estate? You are just like the rest of them, Mr. Darcy."
He did not know how to respond, and in his silence, she regarded him with a soft disapproval, then withdrew her hand from his arm and continued to walk. After a moment, she spoke calmly, but without looking at him.
"I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. It was very rude of me to speak to you in that manner. I beg that you would forgive my manners; I can offer only my childishness in my defense."
He nodded, but did not know whether she saw. She was still not looking at him. She did not move to reclaim his arm.
They walked on in silence for a few moments, before he attempted to bring them back to their discussion of Socrates. His cousin's indiscretion and confusion over why Miss Bennet would paint his own self with the same stroke left him distinctly uncomfortable, and he wished to return to the safer topics. He soon found that Miss Bennet was no longer her engaged and lively self, and their discussion did not hold any of its former vivacity. Despite his discomfort at returning to the unpleasant topic, he felt that there were still things needing to be addressed to put his companion at ease.
"Miss Bennet, I can tell that you are preoccupied. Please, tell me what you are thinking, and if I may so inopportune you, please do tell me what I have done to displease you when I expressed my disapprobation for my cousin displaying his reprobate behavior on my ancestral lands."
"Mr. Darcy, please, it was wrong and improper of me to speak the way I had, and we would do better not to dwell on the subject.
"I insist, Miss Bennet."
She turned towards him for the first time since she let go of his arm, and he was taken aback by the vulnerability of her gaze. It made him want to envelope her in his protective embrace and do everything in his power to ensure her safety and happiness.
"Do you truly wish to hear my thoughts, sir?"
"Please."
She drew in a steadying breath. "Very well. I find it abhorrent the way young men are allowed, nay encouraged to engage in all sorts of debauched behaviors in their youth. We women are secluded and protected and forbidden, taught to preserve our purity as if it is the single greatest worth we possess. We are led to understand that there are all forms of indiscretions that men are permitted to engage in, before and after they become our husbands, that we should just pretend that we do not know about, and they should be discrete enough to allow us to pretend that we do not know. I had never given it much thought before, but now that… now that I am about to come out, and have begun to give fleeting thoughts to marital felicity, I cannot help but disapprove of this hypocrisy. I would not wish for such a husband."
"You do not wish to be married to a man who continued to engage in indiscretions after your wedding?" That, Darcy could well understand. He had always found his uncle's dalliances to be distasteful, and thought that his father, who had been faithful to his mother before and even after her death, was much more deserving of the title gentleman.
Elizabeth winced slightly, and moved her head in an uncertain gesture between a nod and a shake. "Yes and no." She appeared ready to say something else, but then thought better of it.
As her silence dragged on, curious, Darcy pressed on. "How do you mean?"
"Truly, it does not matter. Why discuss the idealistic notions of a little girl? I am sure that a year from now, once I have had my first season, I will be much more reasonable." She gave a soft laugh at her expense, but it was not the vibrant sound of before. It was contrived, just like the laughter of the ladies in the ballroom, and he hated it. He thought heatedly how very much he would hate to see her turn that kind of reasonable.
He turned sharply towards her. "Miss Bennet, please speak frankly. Nothing you have said today has been unreasonable, and I have enjoyed our open discussion. Please, pay me the compliment of continuing in your honesty."
She gasped under the intensity of his gaze, and obliged. "Your cousin is not married, yet I find his behavior almost as bad as if he were. Because, you see, for a woman it would not matter whether she were married or not, except perhaps in the case of a widow. She would be judged, condemned, and punished at the slightest indiscretion. I cannot help but feel it hypocritical and unfair that the same standards are not applied to men. I dread my coming out, dread having to conform to the exacting notions of ladylike behavior, controlling what I wear, how I walk, how I speak. I know I will be judged improper for something as minor as discussing unladylike literature. I dread meeting young men who will flirt with me and who would think nothing of compromising me, knowing that their behavior will always be quickly forgiven while the tiniest misstep on my part would be condemned." She sighed and hung her head. "Yes, I would most certainly not wish for a husband who would not be devoted to me after marriage. But it is more than that. I also would much prefer a man who would have never engaged in that kind of reprobate behavior before our marriage either. I would like a husband who would be as proper, as pure, as good as I."
That certainly was an unorthodox notion, one that Darcy had not heard before. He attempted to hide his surprise before responding, lest he offend his charming companion. "That is indeed a singular opinion, if I understand you correctly, Miss Bennet. Are you saying that you would wish your husband to have no intimate experiences before you?"
She gave him such a deep, tender, achingly probing look that he felt his breath catch. Her tone sounded enthrallingly intimate as she delivered her response. "Is that not what my husband would wish from me, Mr. Darcy?"
"I would -" He caught himself, terrified of the words that were about to tumble out of his mouth, uncomfortably cleared his throat. "I would imagine that to be his preference."
"Then why, good sir, should I not be entitled to the same preference?"
He could not in good conscience think of a single reason to give her. "I – I think you are correct, Miss Bennet."
"Truly?"
He nodded gravely, and offered her his arm. She took it again, relaxing, allowing herself to lean on him much more than she had before. They walked for some time in silence. It was companionable, and he did not feel the strain of their lack of discourse, instead allowing himself to digest all that had been said. He wondered at the societal double standard to which she had alluded, and for the life of him, could not account for it. Indeed, if he had a wife such as the enchanting Miss Bennet, he would want to give her all of himself. She was so open, so honest, so well-informed, and so alive. She could be both tender and passionate, she held firm to her principles and yet expressed them so softly and gently, without a hint of aggression or ill will. She was at once self-possessed and frightened. Any man would be lucky to be her husband.
Darcy did not have a chance to dwell on the surge of irritation he felt at the thought of another man claiming Miss Bennet for his wife, before his companion addressed him:
"You have a lovely estate, Mr. Darcy. While I am partial to the countryside in my native Hertfortshire, your woods are delightful, and I have never seen a house so well situated."
They had by that time come into view of Pemberley, and Darcy felt a surge of pride and warmth at her open admiration of his home.
"I am glad that you approve, Miss Bennet."
"I doubt there are many who would not approve, Mr. Darcy."
"Yet I would conjecture that your good opinion is not too easily bestowed, and therefore more worth the earning." He was surprised by how much he meant it.
Elizabeth rewarded him with her brilliant laughter. "Indeed, you are correct. In my family it is my elder sister, Jane, who grants her approval readily. She is a saint, an angel."
"You have an older sister?" He enquired with interest, eager to learn more about his tiny enchantress.
"Yes, Jane is eighteen. I also have three younger sisters, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia. I love them all tremendously, but Jane has a special place in my heart. She truly is an angel, and deserves every bit of happiness in the world. I would do anything to see her happy." Darcy was stunned at the fierce determination in Elizabeth's voice. It was obvious that she cared for her sister greatly, and he thought once again what a remarkable woman she was, how lucky any man would be to belong to a woman so loving and protective.
"It is unusual for sisters so close in age to maintain such a close relationship without rivalry," Darcy remarked, attempting to distract himself from the direction his wistful thoughts were taking.
"Perhaps. Especially if the elder sister is far more beautiful, unbelievably amiable, and the perfect lady. But if you knew Jane, you would understand. She is all goodness; it is impossible to feel any negative feeling towards her."
Darcy wanted to say that it was difficult to believe in the existence of this paragon of perfection, and that even if Elizabeth's sister were more beautiful and ladylike, it was unlikely that her eyes shone as brightly or her lithe body was as perfectly supple and graceful. But he checked himself before he voiced these thoughts.
"I have a younger sister, Georgiana, and I believe I might love her as much as you love your Jane. She, too, is a little angel."
Miss Bennet gave him one of her beautiful smiles. "And I would expect she is more beautiful, and most certainly more ladylike than you, Mr. Darcy," She teased him. "So you see, it is perfectly possible to love our superior siblings without a trace of jealousy."
"Touche, Miss Bennet."
"Ah! There are my aunt and uncle." She pointed to a couple stood next to the Darcys' gamekeeper.
He was reluctant to let go of his delightful companion as he returned her to her relatives, and was saddened to hear that they were engaged to travel for the next fortnight. They would then return to the neighboring village of Seriton, only five miles from Lambton, and he vowed to call on them at that time. He was determined to further his acquaintance with the intriguing Miss Bennet.
But that very afternoon, as he went in search of his father to inform him of the Viscount's behavior, Darcy was shocked to find his parent unconscious in his study. The family physician gravely informed him that his father had been suffering from a weak heart for quite some time, but did had not wished to trouble his son with his health. In shocked stupor, Darcy could not help but think that he would have rather been troubled but prepared. All thoughts of the enchanting Miss Bennet fled from his mind as his father passed from this world, leaving him alone with the impressive estate and the equally impressive weight of responsibility that came with it. He never did ride out to Seriton.
