CHAPTER TEN
"Awake, arise or be for ever fall'n."
– John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book I –
After many long months of unequalled despair, anguish, and hardship, Darcy could not deny himself the simple joy of beholding her. Elizabeth Bennet was standing before him, and even his haste to devour every detail of her sun-kissed countenance could not distract him from the truth that none of his memories did the lady half the justice she deserved. She was here. She was real. She was breathtaking.
He had hoped, when he had the time or presence of mind to hope at all, that distance, time, or at the very least, the complete loss of all his prospects, would serve to curtail his feelings for her. Now—as he tried and failed to ease the tightening in his chest, slow the quickening of his pulse, or settle the diving, rolling pitch which swelled in his abdomen—he knew, without a doubt, that such a thing could never be possible. He was intoxicated by the very sight of her.
His fingers twitched in eager anticipation, urging him to reach out to her. His person was quickly proving to be as disloyal and incorrigible in her presence as his mind had already revealed itself to be in her absence. Perhaps he had made a terrible mistake in allowing his thoughts to linger on her, time and time again, in the months since he had given up any hope of forgetting her. He had done so only when he was secure in the knowledge that he would never see her again. But now, she was here—the culmination of a thousand dreams and as many nightmares. The only woman he had ever loved. The only woman to ever refuse him anything.
She was here, standing before him, close enough to touch.
Darcy took no notice of the way her fingers trembled as they clutched the basket she carried in her hands, as he was lost in the consideration of a pair of dark hazel eyes, made brighter by some mysterious combination of country air, curiosity, and consternation. He thought nothing of the moment her breath hitched in her chest so forcefully that she bit the side of her cheek to keep from calling out, for he was meditating on the very fine way that the summer sun illuminated the hidden bands of gold which adorned her chestnut curls. However, the slight flush of her luminous, soft skin—he did notice. And it rendered him weak in the knees. If he had thought himself in real danger the last time he had come to Hertfordshire, this time he knew it without a doubt.
"Miss Bennet."
Despite his best efforts, the words fell from his lips in a manner which expressed his shock at seeing her far more than he would have liked. However, if the look in her eyes was any indication, he consoled himself with the knowledge that Miss Elizabeth Bennet seemed to be entertaining very similar thoughts.
"Mr. Darcy," she repeated in softer tones. It was not a greeting this time, but an observation. He almost wondered if she were attempting to verify that he was not some unnatural figment of her imagination. Once again, his sentiments echoed hers—though it had not taken him long to determine that if she were any dream of his, they would certainly be passing the time in a more satisfying manner. No, judging by the stunned, grievous expression which played upon the lady's fine countenance, this Elizabeth Bennet was all too genuine.
But what was she doing here? He could hardly ask her—after all, this was her home shire, not his, or at least it had not been until very recently. She had obviously not expected to encounter him on the road towards Meryton—hardly surprising as he had made no argument against his perceived disdain for the place—but he could not help but feel as though some providence had brought her before him. Whether the Fates still meant to spurn him, he could not know.
He swallowed as she stepped closer, absentmindedly brushing the sides of his hips with his hands. He could not tear his eyes from hers if he had tried and so he made no attempt to do so.
Moving under the shade of the tree beside him, she was eventually forced to tilt her chin upwards to hold his gaze. Though a familiar heat welled within him at the sight of her so charmingly appointed, he pushed it aside and schooled his features. When he felt that a long enough moment had passed for either—if not both—to gather their composure, he did her the service of repeating her greeting.
"Miss Bennet."
The lady tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet and pursed her lips as if she weighed the merits of her intended response. A rich contrariety of emotions overwhelmed him as he encountered the very curiosity which had first attracted his notice and long since been committed to memory—the single, subtle twitch of a finely arched brow. He longed to decipher the mysteries she concealed beneath such a gesture. Though he was now well-appraised of the fact that he could not read her countenance as well as he wished, her expression in this instance seemed to signify a sense of bewildered amusement rather than agitation.
While Darcy waged a futile inner battle to uncover any possible or potential topic for conversation with the young woman standing before him, the object of his distraction began to recover from her own surprise at their meeting.
"You have returned to Netherfield," she observed.
"I have," he stammered uncomfortably. "I—I understood you to be in town."
"Yes," she blinked, her eyes suddenly taking an eager interest in anything but him. "I had planned it so myself. I have only just returned to—that is to say, my mother…" she trailed off. Darcy averted his own eyes as she bit down on her lip. After a brief pause, Elizabeth cleared her throat and offered him the most honest reply she could, given the circumstances. "I was needed at home, sir."
He nodded his understanding and grasped for an appropriate response. It was clear that some explanation was necessary. "Miss Bennet, you must know that I would not have… If I had any indication that you were to return from town so soon—"
"Pray, do not make yourself uneasy, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth interrupted with a tight smile. "Though it is true that I had not expected to greet you on the road today, it does not follow that such a meeting must be unwelcome. I… I apologise if my sudden appearance startled you, sir."
Elizabeth offered a crisp nod in the direction of Darcy's person and he was stricken by an immediate, exceedingly sharp awareness of his state of dress—or rather undress.
Elizabeth's unexpected appearance had left little space in his thoughts for any other consideration, and he was ashamed to realise that he had entirely forgotten the disaster with Rosalind that had befallen him only a moments before—A deuced humiliating fiasco which had left what little proper clothing he retained smeared with a thick layer of mud and grime. His eyes followed her downward path—suddenly feeling all of the awkwardness which his misplaced coat, bared arms, and disheveled appearance readily supplied.
"So you see, Mr. Darcy," she teased. "It appears you have me at less of a disadvantage than I might have anticipated, even if you had been aware of my return to Longbourn."
Darcy looked to his hands as if they held the answers he sought. What must she think of him! he chastised himself. His brow furrowed as he considered all of the miserable implications of his present state.
Elizabeth Bennet's thoughts were much more agreeably engaged. Despite Mr. Darcy's being undeniably flush in the pockets, she had to admit that the gentleman presented quite the picture when playing the bobbish Country Harry. The arch of her brow rose ever higher as she appraised his every feature. The last time that she had had occasion to do so was the night before her leaving Pemberley, when she bid his portrait a silent farewell and stole into his library for a final time. He was even more handsome than she remembered.
Secretly, she hoped that he might have another oil completed before the great house passed to the next generation of Darcys. As she regarded him now—rumpled, fatigued, and slick with mud—she realised that the current portrait did him no justice. In truth, she would much rather see him painted like this.
Regrettably, as Darcy remained lost in his self-recriminations, the gentleman took no notice of her attentions.
Though he had appeared every part the gentleman before her in their last meeting, he had repulsed her with his abominable behaviour. He would not repeat the offence for a second time—regardless of his decidedly ungentlemanly, bedraggled state. He would find a way to show her that he had attended to her valid reproaches of his character. Though he had likely lost her goodwill forever—if he had ever laid any claim to it—he would not have her made uncomfortable once more by his manners. After all, there was little else he could do for her now but make some small effort to temper her disdain.
"Yes, of course," he heard himself sputter. "I must—" he grasped. "Pardon me, Miss Bennet. Your family is in good health?"
His eyes made a careful study of hers as they removed from his person and sprang to attention.
"Yes!" she rasped, drawing in a sharp breath—a touch of colour flushing her cheeks. "Yes, sir. I believe they are very well, though they were not at home when I returned from town." She swallowed and attempted to focus her attention on the feeling of the reed basket scraping her fingertips. "They have gone to call on our relations in Meryton, and so, though I have not yet seen them for myself, I have no reason to think them anything but well. I thank you."
Elizabeth caught a brief spark in the gentleman's eye as she stammered her way through her thoughtless reply. Had Mr. Darcy supposed the direction of her thoughts had tended? Her colour deepened, and this time—he did suppose. An unfamiliar, warm feeling began to creep up her spine.
"And how long have you been in this part of the country?" she rushed, suddenly desirous of more mundane conversation.
"Some weeks now," he replied in a steady voice, though his eyes betrayed his growing interest. A ladylike cough served as the cover for her escape and she soon fixed her gaze upon her skirts.
Elizabeth balked. Some weeks! And yet she had heard nothing of his presence here! It seemed dear Jane would have much to explain indeed! She drew in a deep breath and returned her attention to his face, praying that she appeared more at ease than she felt. How was one to make polite conversation with a man they have wronged, refused, and censured!
"You will spend the remainder of the summer at Netherfield then?"
"Well, yes," Darcy replied uneasily. "I was intending to spend much of the summer here." His phrasing was not lost on Elizabeth. He had been intending to stay, but was no longer? However, all of her budding concerns related to his most recently confounding words were pushed aside by those that followed soon after. "Though I am not staying at Netherfield precisely," he added slowly, as if he expected her to glean something more from his words than he was saying. "I have taken up the cottage there, just beyond the bend in the road."
Darcy made a vague gesture in the direction of the cottage but he knew such assistance was unnecessary. Surely Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the most accomplished walker in all of England, would know where to locate a cottage less than two miles from her door.
He was correct. Elizabeth's gaze did not follow in the direction he indicated, but widened in shock. A fine mosaic of emotions called out to him—demanding answers. No, it appeared this information would not suffice, for it supplied the lady with a seemingly endless supply of questions. Though she was well-mannered enough to keep most of them to herself, he read them on her countenance. Perhaps he was gaining some insight into the many expressions of Miss Elizabeth Bennet after all.
"Mr. Young's cottage?" she inquired with all politeness. "Do you mean Old Mr. Morris' steward?"
He nodded his confirmation. "Yes, the very same."
"You are to stay at Mr. Young's cottage, but not at Netherfield?" she pressed further, brushing the boundaries of her own good behaviour.
Unfortunately, the gentleman's countenance gave nothing away, and his voice remained as cool as stone.
"So it would seem."
Following his pronouncement, Darcy shifted to his right and took a few short steps to the stile where he had lain his coat. He suddenly felt very exposed.
As he slipped the garment over his damp, muddied shirt, he could not help but notice the way Elizabeth's eyes followed his movements. Believing her to be entirely indifferent to him, as the lady's own words had attested some months earlier—and indifference being the warmest feeling she might have attributed to him—his embarrassment grew by leaps and bounds.
What a muddle he had made of things! And now, having reached his lowest point, to be faced with her disapprobation was a torment he did not think he could endure.
It was not as though he had not imagined meeting her again, of course. In fact, he had given more room for such imaginings to grow than he was like to admit even to himself at present. However, never—in any of these fantastic scenarios—had he been forced to reveal to her how low he had fallen. He already knew he did not have her respect, and he had no hope of her esteem—but he did not need her pity. It was unconscionable. Was he to be made to watch as she realised her further good fortune in refusing him?
Still, he knew he must tell her something of his situation, for even if the townspeople of Meryton still remained in ignorance of his disgrace, he knew it could not be for long. But he could not say that. Not to her. Not entirely.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth made every attempt to school her features as she watched Darcy pull his fine frock coat over the shirt which still clung to his sinewy chest. Less than five minutes in the gentleman's presence, and she felt positively lightheaded from vexation. If the irritation she felt at the lack of substantive information regarding this wholly unexpected turn of events could be readily appraised by the turn of her countenance, it was nothing to the roar of confusion, fascination, and frustration she felt within. Did he think so little of her as not to offer her any explanation of his presence here? Was she to be made to watch as he made his way in her world, wholly indifferent to her presence?
Must everything be a battle with him?
Elizabeth adopted a casual air, hoping rather than believing such a tack would induce the gentleman to any further disclosure of his reasons for returning to the neighbourhood. By his own admission, he had not come to renew his addresses to her—far from it!
Mr. Darcy had said himself that he thought her in town and must have meant to avoid her company entirely. It was a sentiment she could not fault him for holding after she had abused him so abominably to his face. Still, she was surprised to find that she felt the loss of the gentleman's good opinion more keenly than she might have otherwise thought. Elizabeth puzzled over the prospect. Perhaps the reading of a man's books induced one to form some affinity for his character? She hardly knew.
And to find that he had returned to Hertfordshire only to remove himself from the comforts of Netherfield Hall in favour of a steward's cottage? How violently Miss Bingley's machinations must have turned to send a gentleman of such stature to a ramshackle cottage in a country town of no consequence! And why had he not returned to Pemberley? Though her inquisitive nature demanded answers, her gentle breeding ruled the day. It was not like her to dissemble, but when she spoke, her words were delivered with all the grace and bravado of a debutante on the stage.
"I must own that I was not aware of any longstanding friendship between yourself and Mr. Young, Mr. Darcy," she smiled up at him. "If I had been, I might have stolen fewer berries from his brush. I will warn you that I am no great favourite of his."
"Are you not?" Darcy turned to face her with a bemused smile, glad to be abandoning the task of fixing his buttons with wet fingers. Let his coat hang open, it was hardly as though she had a thought to spare for him. "I find that hard to believe, Miss Bennet."
In fact, Darcy found it hard to believe that anyone acquainted with the lady before him would not consider her the most charming, incredible, and utterly enchanting creature in all the world—but that was beside the point at present and so he said nothing.
"I cannot imagine that is true, Mr. Darcy," she replied playfully. "But I thank you for the compliment all the same. Unfortunately, I do not believe that Mr. Young is of a mind to overlook my transgressions. He took to calling me Black Bennet as a child and has yet to relinquish the moniker, as far as I am aware."
She was rambling, she knew, but there was little else she could do to settle the riotous lurching of her insides—save running for the trees, of course. And, as Mr. Darcy was uncommonly tall, she thought the chance of outpacing him highly unlikely. No, she would have to abscond with her words. It was the only way.
"And were you prosecuted for your crimes?" the gentleman asked, his eyes bright and his lips twisting upwards in a show of amusement.
"Most assuredly so, sir!" Elizabeth scolded. "I am ashamed to say that my good parents were often called upon to encourage some method of restitution or other in exchange for my flights of wilful disobedience. I have embroidered more cushions, weeded more rose gardens, and set more preserves than could ever be accounted for, Mr. Darcy. Many of them at the behest of your Mr. Young."
"Weeds and jams, Miss Bennet?" Darcy inquired with a quirk of his brow. He could not help but be drawn in by her easy manners, no matter the cost to himself.
"Yes!" Elizabeth taunted, giving herself over to the spirited banter. The continuation of her tale was delivered in a conspiratorial tone Darcy found most pleasing.
"As my father often reaped the rewards of Black Bennet's bounty, I must confess that he often encouraged me to seek my penance outdoors." She sighed dramatically. "It is a dreadful shame that I never did become a more competent seamstress, but I could never remain still long enough to practice my stitches. I ended with bloodied pillows more often than not. Mama was beside herself."
"And were you sensible to the object of such a lesson?" Darcy wondered aloud, the uncharacteristic lightness of his voice surprising him.
"I maintain that I have no regrets as to my behaviour at the time," Elizabeth declared with aplomb. "The berries here are of the finest quality in the neighbourhood, and Mr. Young has a far greater number than he could ever do with himself."
Darcy chuckled, a sly smile creeping across his features in a manner Elizabeth found most pleasing. "I begin to understand the reason your parents thought you in need of some discipline, Miss Elizabeth."
Against all her earlier inclinations, Elizabeth forgot herself entirely. "I do not mean to sound as though I speak ill of the man or the method of my punishment, sir!" she laughed. "I only mean to explain that Mr. Young might have considered the service I provided him before condemning a young girl to a life of piracy."
"Yes, I am sure you were quite justified," Darcy said earnestly as he took a step in her direction. Elizabeth's eyes sparked with captive laughter and he felt his own gaze grow soft as it rested upon her. He cleared his throat. "Should I worry for the harvest then, Miss Bennet? Or have you had your fill of pricked fingers, pulling weeds, and heating kettles?"
Darcy watched with delight as her brow raised in what he found a particularly impish manner. She certainly did not disappoint.
"I am sorry to say that I remain quite fond of summer berries, sir," Elizabeth teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.
It took every ounce of Darcy's resolve not to pull the lady into his arms and kiss her soundly. She had certainly rattled him—though perhaps not in the way she wished. No, certainly not in the way she wished. An image of Elizabeth Bennet, cloaked in moonlight as she crept through the brush outside his door appeared before him. What he would not give to encounter such a sight! In fact, he made a mental note to plant more berries as soon as may be. Just in case.
"Do you mean to warn me off the place, Miss Bennet?" Darcy cajoled in what he thought a miserable attempt at flirtation. He was surprised then, when his aim acquired its object. Elizabeth's eyes locked on his, and when she spoke, there was a sincerity in her tone that he would not take for granted.
"Not at all, Mr. Darcy. I assure you."
Darcy and Elizabeth regarded one another for a quiet moment, their shared gaze inducing a rush of disorienting feelings in both. When Darcy began to feel his incompetence neared the verge of betraying him, he took the opportunity to redirect the conversation.
"As to your concerns regarding my friendship with Mr. Young, I am sorry to say that I have not had the pleasure of making his acquaintance," he explained. "Mr. Young's elder brother was taken ill and he has removed to Plymouth to care for him. It appears that you will be pillaging my stores now, Captain Bennet."
Elizabeth stared in wide-eyed astonishment, their earlier easy banter all but forgotten. Exactly how long did Mr. Darcy mean to stay?
"Rest assured that you may plunder as much as you wish," he continued, insensible of her rising concern. "I would be glad of your services and I have no desire to see your Jolly Roger sailing in my direction."
Darcy's uncommon jest—which may have even been well-met under different circumstances—could not overcome the rush of dread which overtook Elizabeth's every conscious thought as the implication of his words sunk in.
"Do you mean that you will take up the place?"
Darcy had no wish to dissemble. Against his better judgement, he was enjoying this—enjoying her smiles and amiable conversation. In fact, he could not remember the last time he had held a more agreeable exchange, even if it were laced with concern and innuendo.
"Yes, I do."
And there it was. Though she attempted to conceal her confusion by taking an eager interest in Rosalind's slow progression across the tall grasses, Elizabeth quite visibly reeled. With the smile in his eyes he reserved only for Elizabeth Bennet, he took pity on her and expanded upon his admittedly shocking, abbreviated response. Tare an' hounds, but it felt good to tease her!
"In a manner of speaking. Mr. Young can hardly oversee Netherfield from the docks of Plymouth. And with Mr. Morris passed on and his heir not yet arrived to the neighbourhood, Bingley requires some assistance with the day to day management of the estate and its grounds until such a time as Mr. Morris' heir arrives. Fortunately, I have some… experience in these matters and I was made available."
"But surely you would be more comfortable at Netherfield, sir?" she asked before immediately withdrawing the question. "I offer my apologies, Mr. Darcy. It was not my intention to pry."
"Not at all, Miss Bennet," he replied, brushing some of the drying mud from his coat. "I find the steward's cottage suits me very well indeed. I hope you will not think me… I hope you will understand when I say that I have little time for society at present."
Elizabeth's face clouded over as the pair exchanged a rather awkward glance. For a few moments, it had felt as though none of it—the assembly in Meryton, her meeting Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy's interference, the events of Hunsford, his letter—had happened at all. The experience put Elizabeth in mind of something that Jane had once said—was this what it might have been like if she and Mr. Darcy had met as common and indifferent acquaintances?
"Of course." I would not think such things of you, she wanted to say. But, of course, she could not. All of those events had come to pass, and so she resolved to make an effort to be more mindful of her manners in his company henceforth. The man had once expressed a regard for her that she had given him more than enough reasons to regret. At the very least, the gentleman was deserving of a compliment.
"I am sure Mr. Bingley will appreciate your efforts here, Mr. Darcy. I know that Netherfield is nothing to Pemberley, but if you can assist your friend in fashioning something even half so grand as what I have encountered in Derbyshire, it will quickly be the envy of the county, sir. Mr. Bingley may want to secure the terms of his lease rather sooner than later—If he means to stay in the neighbourhood, that is."
Elizabeth felt the air around her grow still as Mr. Darcy's eyes narrowed in confusion.
"You have seen Pemberley?" he frowned.
"Oh!" Oh, no. "Yes, of course," she replied, mentally retracing her steps. "I should have mentioned… I have only just returned from a tour of some of the northern counties with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner."
His thoughts seemed to take him elsewhere for a moment, and so Elizabeth turned her attention to the field before her, feeling all the anxiety of their meeting for the first time. After a full fortnight at Pemberley spent waiting, wondering, and worrying each day that Mr. Darcy might appear—to return to Longbourn and almost immediately encounter the very man himself, half-dressed and spattered with mud in a sea of country wildflowers! And to laugh with him! It was too ridiculous. Who would ever believe such a thing? Even dear sweet Jane was like to accuse her of telling Canterbury Tales.
Darcy swallowed the panic rising in his throat and attempted the bearings of a calmer man.
"You visited Pemberley during this tour? In Derbyshire?"
Elizabeth took her time responding. She had the distinct impression that she and Mr. Darcy were very near to the moment they would abandon all pretence of amiable conversation in favour of the more familiar acerbity which had marked many of their previous exchanges. When she returned her attention to the gentleman she felt as though he had already been studying her for some time. Gathering her strength, she made an attempt to disarm him.
"Do you know of another?"
Elizabeth frowned. Darcy was unmoved and suddenly as formidable as ever. She watched as the gentleman drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders. The effect was somewhat marred by the informality of his dress and the remaining spots of grime staining his noble features. She might have laughed, were it not for the fact that his attitude, however blemished, accomplished its purpose all the same.
Darcy took a slow step forward. When he replied, his voice stuck tight to his throat.
"I do not."
Elizabeth followed her first impulse, which was to swallow and look away, her eyes narrowing in an involuntary display of frustration. Did he mean to intimidate her? Was the man incapable of a single ordinary conversation? Must he always be so contrary?
Crossing her arms, she remained silent.
The sudden movement of an errant curl made Elizabeth acutely aware of how far Mr. Darcy's steps had carried him. He was now close enough to her that she could feel his warm breath in her hair.
"Miss Bennet?"
"Yes," she delivered on a sharp exhale. "I have come from Derbyshire."
"So, you have been to Pemberley," Darcy repeated in a softer tone. From his shadow, Elizabeth witnessed the moment he must have realised for himself how near to her he now stood. With a step backwards, Darcy began to shift his weight uncomfortably between his feet. The gentleman cleared his throat.
"How… Excuse me, Miss Bennet. How did you find it?"
"Pemberley?" A laugh escaped her—perhaps a bit more breathlessly that usual—though she remained glad of the distraction such involuntary gaiety provided. "In the usual manner, I expect."
"Miss Bennet." Though he frowned at her taunt, Elizabeth read a much different expression in the slight wrinkling of his eyes.
Darcy was prepared to wait, and he fixed his gaze upon her again in eager anticipation of her response.
"Very well, sir," she relented with a warm smile. "Very well indeed."
"You approved of it then, of Pemberley?"
"Of Pemberley? Yes, of course. I have never seen a place more happily situated," Elizabeth answered in all cheerful honesty. When the glint in his eye pierced hers, she blushed crimson and moderated her tone. "Though I cannot imagine ever making the acquaintance of one who would say otherwise."
Visibly pleased, Darcy's entire countenance warmed in response to such easy praise.
"But your good opinion is rarely bestowed and therefore more worth the earning."
His eyes held hers until a strange sensation tickled low in Elizabeth's belly. Suddenly alarmed without knowing the reason, she sought a return to their conversation.
"Do you plan to visit with Lady Graham before the harvest begins?"
"Lady Graham?" Darcy asked, his brow pinched. The name was unfamiliar to him, but Elizabeth seemed assured that he would know the lady. He searched his memory, but remained in ignorance of any connection.
"Yes, Lady Graham," Elizabeth continued steadily, hoping her relationship with the lady would not induce him to anger. She remained, as ever, in ignorance of their precise connection—and though worries over any improper arrangement between the two were no longer chief amongst her thoughts, she had to allow that it was still a possibility. However, it was too late to back out now. She had chosen her path and she meant to follow it. "She was very amiable. We mean to keep up a correspondence now that I am returned home. I liked her very well indeed."
"I see," grumbled Darcy—though he did not see.
With a reminder to herself that she was by no means daunted by the task of addressing Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth pressed on.
"Lady Graham was kind enough to show us some of the sights as well. I found the ruins at the northern edge of the property most enlightening. I have only encountered its equal in the pages of my father's books," she said aloud—and yours, she kept to herself.
The first seeds of suspicion began to take root in Darcy's mind and his eyes narrowed into hardened steel as he began to take the lay of the land.
"Did Lady Graham mention the nature of her connection to me?"
A slight prickling at the back of Elizabeth's neck became the first sign of her unease. She was not blind to either the suspicious glint in his eye or the hint of accusation in his tone. Was he angry with her for visiting his home so soon after her violent refusal of his hand, or Lady Graham for revealing the nature of her connection to him? She coloured deeply, unsure of what he wished her to say. Surely he would not expect her to—
"No, sir. Not as such," she offered unsteadily.
Mr. Darcy seemed displeased.
Elizabeth's teeth sank into her cheek. So mutable were the gentleman's moods! Yet the day had already held so many surprises for her that she was rather glad of any predictability—and she certainly considered her bringing him to umbrage just that.
"I believe she did mention an acquaintance with your mother," she offered, hoping to tip the scales of his countenance back towards the amicable. She could not have known her error, and so she knew shock when the bitter tones of his incredulity reigned down upon her.
"My mother!"
Darcy clasped his hands together in agitation as he began to measure his steps along the side of the road. His gaze fixed on his Wellingtons as it was, he missed Elizabeth Bennet's quiet appraisal.
"Mr. Darcy, are you well?" she asked in half concern, half exasperation.
When it was clear that the gentleman was either not attending or did not mean to answer, Elizabeth cast up her hands in agitation. In need of her own reprieve from his company, she marched across the lane to the stile which had held Mr. Darcy's coat—but by the time she had pulled herself up the first rung, the very man was upon her.
"Might I inquire as to how you made the acquaintance of this Lady Graham at Pemberley?" his voice commanded from somewhere behind her. Incensed, she turned herself about to face the lane and instead found herself facing him—her raised height on the stile placing them nearly eye to eye.
"I assure you that our meeting was an accident, sir," she countered. She would not have him accusing her of some contrivance to gain either his or Lady Graham's attentions! "Mrs. Reynolds was leading us on a tour of the house, and I became separated from my party. When Lady Graham requested that we stay for refreshments, my aunt and uncle were happy to partake of her hospitality."
Some measure of the lady's practiced deception upon Elizabeth now known to him, or so he assumed, Darcy was set aflame. Withdrawing from Elizabeth's perch, he wore down the grass before her with great enthusiasm.
"Her hospitality!" he roared.
"Yes, sir!" Elizabeth protested, suddenly offended on behalf of her friend. Regardless of any connection, arrangement, or obligation to the gentleman may hold her friend under—Marian Graham was every bit the lady. "She was very gracious."
Elizabeth's cool demeanour only enraged him further. Darcy was not yet sure what Mr. Hadley was playing at, but he assumed the worst. What could he mean by involving Miss Elizabeth Bennet in his schemes? Had he not finished with him yet?
Mimicking Elizabeth's gesture from moments earlier, he threw his hands into the air in a grand show of his exasperation. "Gracious, she says? I am quite sure she was!" he scoffed. "After all, you agreed to a correspondence with the lady over tea! The lady must have been very gracious indeed!"
Elizabeth was beginning to find Mr. Darcy quite vexing.
"No, sir. In fact, I did not. That is to say—my Aunt Gardiner and I came to know Lady Graham quite well when my uncle attended to some business near Manchester over a fortnight."
"Manchester! And you say your uncle left you unprotected for over a fortnight in the company of Lady Graham?"
The look in Darcy's eyes was murder. If Mr. Hadley had placed a hand on Elizabeth Bennet—
"I would by no means call Pemberley unprotected, sir," the lady challenged from her roost upon the stile.
Upon her reply, the many frantic visions of Mr. Hadley skewered at the end of Darcy's foil, dragged through the streets, and tossed into the sea were quickly tucked away, though he would return to them later.
"Pemberley! You mean to say that you stayed all that time at Pemberley? In the company of Lady Graham?"
Two long strides brought him back to her eye level. Leaning back against the structure, she stretched herself taller.
"Yes, sir. I am sorry if my uncle's accepting Lady Graham's offer of hospitality offends you. In truth, I did not wish to visit the place at all, but when the maid at Lambton assured us that you were from home and not expected to return, I saw little harm in allowing my relations to spend their holiday in the manner of their choosing. I could not have anticipated that Marian would have made us such an offer, nor that she would have become such a particular friend!"
"Marian!" Darcy bellowed. He stared at Elizabeth—his breathing ragged and anguish writ clear upon his countenance. The seconds which ticked by might have been days.
Instinctively, Elizabeth reached out and placed a light hand upon the gentleman's shoulder in the comforting gesture of a friend. She had gone too far, and she felt it.
"I apologise for offending you, sir. Such was not my intention."
Darcy's sentiments were engaged immediately. Raising his eyes to meet hers, he observed the very fine manner in which her features softened under his appreciative gaze. The effect was jarring and he realised his folly at once. He had been worse than a fool, and—once again—he had behaved abominably towards her.
"Of course it was not," he acknowledged on a long exhale. "Eli—Miss Bennet. Please, allow me to make my apologies. I would not have you think that I am angry with you."
Elizabeth could hardly be entirely amused after such a perplexing display of emotion, but the extent of her curiosity and concern engaged her good humour nonetheless. She tilted her head, engaging in a study of Mr. Darcy's features as they tensed and relaxed before her.
"Are you not, sir?"
"No," he insisted, his eyes moving to rest on ground before her as she returned her hand to her own side. The words that followed would have been inaudible if not for his proximity. "No, Miss Bennet. Never."
While Elizabeth did not entertain a single doubt that the boot was on quite the other leg, she had to allow that this was a welcome prevarication coming from the man who had seen so much ill of her character. The barest hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her lips.
"It is only…" Mr. Darcy paused for a long moment as if he meant to collect his thoughts. When he continued, Elizabeth was surprised to find that she had been holding her breath while she awaited his response.
''It is a shock, Miss Bennet," he offered, his glance slowly sweeping up the length of her form in a manner she believed more indicative of a hesitancy to meet her gaze than an immodest/baudy appraisal of her person. When the tired eyes which met hers held no trace of the cold, proud, and taciturn gentleman she had come to know as Mr. Darcy—she knew her assumption had been correct. On the contrary, his whole countenance was touched with a vulnerability which shocked and captivated her. "You see, Miss Bennet… Pemberley… Pemberley is no longer my concern."
Elizabeth blinked a staccato—No, she did not see. What was she meant to see, precisely? Try as she might, the phrase "no longer his concern" held no meaning for her.
"No longer your concern?" she repeated dumbly. Mr. Darcy turned and moved a few steps away, but Elizabeth was gratified that he did not resume his pacing. She felt the dizzying bob and sway of the earth as it spun on its axis. As if of a like mind, the gentleman planted his feet wide on the ground.
Darcy cleared his throat.
"No."
They remained silent for only a moment. She was determined to try again.
"Then Lady Graham—"
"Is none of my concern," he delivered flatly.
Elizabeth sat upon the top step of the stile with an agitated huff of frustration. So Pemberley did not concern him? Lady Graham did not concern him? Elizabeth was certainly concerned for them both if this is how the gentleman went about his business. And here he was, in Hertfordshire, less than a mile from her home, acting as though she were the one being impractical! The words sprang from her lips before she could think to stop them.
"So you have no concerns of your own, Mr. Darcy? Your home, your guest, the observed politesse of society? How remarkably changed you are since…" Elizabeth clamped her mouth shut to keep her final insult from escaping, but soon recommitted herself to the task at hand in what she considered a more civilised manner. "Yet Mr. Bingley's fencepost concerns you?" She gestured crisply to the fallen beam on the ground before them for effect.
Unfortunately for Elizabeth, her outburst did not have the result she intended—but it had a result nonetheless. At the moment Elizabeth had choked back the words they both knew to be "your proposal," Darcy had turned to face her. In fewer than three long strides, Darcy and Elizabeth were once again face to face.
Having taking a seated position which no longer afforded her the advantage of height over the gentleman—a position she almost immediately regretted—Elizabeth found him unconscionably close. She raised her chin in the manner she knew provoked him.
Darcy clenched his jaw and leaned forward, bending over her in a manner he hoped would intimidate her. For good measure, he raised an arm to lean on the post beside her.
"Yes, Miss Bennet, it does," he hissed.
Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat at their proximity, for when he rested his weight on the post beside her she was very nearly in his arms. Still, she refused to be intimidated and her courage rose. She saw his wager for what it was and raised without thinking.
In what seemed to Darcy to be an excessively slow movement—she leaned forward.
Riding high on the crest of her boldness, Elizabeth was wholly unprepared for the feeling of panic which welled within her as Darcy—rather than backing down as she expected—acknowledged and accepted her silent challenge.
With a tilt of his head and a barely perceptible lift of his brow, Darcy sank further against the post and hovered above her. When he lowered his gaze to meet hers she felt as though she could make out every fleck of colour in his indigo eyes and count every delicate lash which framed them.
She froze.
When Darcy spoke again, his voice was low and gravelly and his quick breaths brushed her ear.
"Yes, Miss Bennet. At present this fencepost concerns me greatly."
Against her will, her reason, and even her character, Elizabeth found herself… speechless.
In lieu of conversation, Elizabeth raised her second line of defence—she scowled.
Darcy imposed.
The point was acknowledged and she began to feel that he was intentionally provoking her. The thought only riled her further.
Insufferable, impossible, vexing man!
Darcy watched with great amusement as Elizabeth's frustration grew. He fought back a smile and was nearly successful. If he thought about it—as he now did—he was quite enjoying his afternoon. Having missed the sensations her very proximity produced, drawing Elizabeth's ire ranked high on his list of occupations of late. Though he was aware—well aware—that he was treading dangerous waters by even being in her presence, he could not deny himself the indulgence any more than he could stop himself from imagining what it would feel like to cross the few remaining inches between them and kiss her—if only he should just lean a little further down…
Elizabeth, barely sensible of the day of the week, licked her lips.
When she did so, Darcy's eyes widened and Elizabeth's sense returned with all the force of a steam locomotive. When she sprung from her seat upon the stile, Darcy stepped back to avoid the clashing of their heads.
As she smoothed her skirts, he busied himself by gathering up the basket which had fallen from the stile in her hasty departure.
"Thank you," she said in a voice she meant to sound confident. "But if you would excuse me, Mr. Darcy. I think it is time I returned to the house."
Darcy's small gold signet ring began to dance around his hand.
"Pray, El—Miss Bennet. You are not leaving?"
She could not be leaving!
"Mr. Darcy, I hardly think—"
"Miss Bennet, we are to be neighbours, are we not? Please, let us not part once again in anger. Could we not speak of something else?"
As she was quite decided that Mr. Darcy's words held no sway with her, Elizabeth was surprised to find that the silent plea in his eyes did. There was a sort of softness to him, or perhaps one she had not noticed before, that pulled at her heart strings—as she was sure they would do for any other being, even one so contrary as Mr. Darcy—and so she was compelled to nod her approval.
Darcy relaxed.
Elizabeth tensed.
She shifted her weight uncomfortably and attempted to raise some, nay any subject suitable for conversation with the man, but there seemed an embargo on every topic. Mr. Darcy was clearly either uncomfortable, exasperated, or annoyed by her presence, and she had no wish to press the matter of his coming to Hertfordshire any further. She had only just decided to turn back in the direction of Longbourn and claim a headache when he surprised by asking after Jane.
"Have you seen your sister since returning to Longbourn? The eldest Miss Bennet, I mean."
Elizabeth shook her head, unable to fathom any possible connection between Mr. Bingley's fencepost, Mr. Darcy's expressed lack of concern for all that was his, and Jane—save for the fact that they were all located in the same hemisphere. She cleared her throat and endeavoured to appear decently well composed.
"No, not as of yet. She has gone to call on my aunt," Elizabeth reminded.
"Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me. I only wished to say that I hope that when you do, you will find her spirits much improved. I have found Mr. Bingley's spirits much improved since his return to Netherfield."
She could not help the raise of her brow. "And this pleases you?"
"Very much, Miss Bennet," he said solemnly. "More than I can say. Bingley has done well for himself, but no better than he has done here. I wish him happy. I could not do otherwise."
Again, Elizabeth was left tongue-tied by his exchange. If appearing dazed and dumb was truly de rigueur amongst the ladies of town, she was beginning to consider herself ready for a presentation to the Queen. She began to feel a true headache coming on and sought to make her excuses. Being near the man only seemed to puzzle her more!
"I am glad to hear it, Mr. Darcy," she replied with a slow nod he seemed to appreciate. "And now I really must be going. My family will surely have returned to Longbourn by now and I would not have them think I am not desirous of their company."
"Good day, Miss Bennet," he bowed. "Perhaps we shall meet again?"
"Good day, Mr. Darcy," she curtsied. "Perhaps we shall."
Neither had ever felt the formality of a parting more keenly.
Some moments later, before the twist of the bend carried the scene behind her completely out of view, she turned her head for a final look back—as if to prove to herself that she had not imagined the whole of their encounter.
Sure enough, Mr. Darcy remained where she had left him, his hands clasped behind his back and his face in the full summer sun, muddy splotch and all—watching her. With a final parting nod, she stepped beyond the bend and tugged furiously at the ribbons of her bonnet.
"Well, Mr. Darcy," she said to herself. "You certainly do know how to make an entrance."