Lady Catherine's oldest coach rolled to a stop before the Bennet's house. The footman handed Elizabeth out.
"Are you well, Miss?" Beneath his powdered wig, his eyes vouched for the sincerity of his question.
"I shall be fine." She smiled, but the effort was weak at best. It would likely pass Mama's scrutiny so it was enough.
Mama burst through the front door, a neatly penned note clutched in her left hand. "You very clever girl!" She pointed to the paper.
Of course, Lady Catherine would not have sent her home without explanation, but what should she have said that would leave Mama declaring her clever?
"I have no idea what you are talking about, Mama."
"You do not need to play games with me, Lizzy dear." She looped her arm in Elizabeth's and escorted her into the parlor. "Has not Lady Catherine told you?" She handed Elizabeth the letter.
Elizabeth took it and glanced over the words until she saw Lydia and Kitty's names. Invited to Rosings? Company for Anne and Miss Darcy? She gasped.
"Is it not wonderful? I regret that she sees no point in you returning to Rosings whilst her house party remains, but since Mr. Wickham is far more interested in Lydia, I can see her point. I am sorry indeed for you, but you must tell me, how did you contrive to have her invite your sisters?"
"I do not know. She said nothing of this to me." Elizabeth handed the letter back to Mama.
"Do not tell me then, but you shall not spoil my delight! You have surprised me, child, and I will not forget the service you have done us all."
"Do you not worry that Lydia is full young to be out in company? Particularly without you to chaperone her. Were you not concerned—"
"I concede, Lydia is high spirited, but she is no hoyden. I have taught her better. And can you imagine a better, more attentive chaperone than Lady Catherine?"
"I do not know. Four young ladies, five if Miss Bingley is included, are quite a few to keep watch over."
"You concern for her is very pleasing, very solicitous, but I am certain it is not necessary."
"Does Papa agree?"
"What would he think of it? He has never taken much care for the management of you girls. That is a mother's task. However…" she sighed.
Elizabeth wandered to the window. Now it would begin.
"Truly, child, I do not know what I am going to do with you. We have been here not even two years and already you have the reputation of an eccentric spinster in the making. Whilst I am happy that Mr. Wickham has taken a shine to Lydia, I wish you would have accepted him."
Elizabeth shrugged.
"I am only being practical child. Truly you do not understand the danger you put yourself in. I have raised you to be a gentlewoman, but that means you must marry a gentleman."
"Mr. Wickham is no gentleman."
"He is to be a steward to Mr. Darcy—you do not think I know that?"
"No I had not thought you realized. Then why—"
"Because in that position, if he is wise, he can save enough to purchase his own estate in only a few years, especially if he has your dowry. He can become a gentleman, not a grand one mind you, but it is possible."
"That is enough for you?"
"Of course I want more for all of you girls, but, oh, Lizzy. I do not expect you will be able to do any better. A man like Mr. Bingley is not going to want an opinionated headstrong girl for a wife. He needs a hostess who will charm society, like Jane or Lydia."
"I am well respected here."
"Respected, I grant you. When someone has a question or a need, they go to you. Yes, but that is a desirable quality in a housekeeper, not the lady of a house. I did not raise you to be a housekeeper, but that could be your fate if you continue in your ways."
"Yes, Mama."
"What am I going to do with you? I fear your father is not going to be very understanding of this turn of events. Neither Kitty nor Lydia is of any use to him and he will not appreciate being forced to work without assistance. I expect he will be very cross with you over this."
Elizabeth swallowed hard. "I had considered that." Dwelt on it the entire way from Rosings, dreaded the thought the moment Lady Catherine announced she was to leave. It should be enough that she was released from her service to Miss de Bourgh, the terms of her release should be of little concern. But impulsive as she was, she had failed to consider the entire situation. Now she would have to live with the consequences.
"I do not relish the notion of you enduring your father's pique on behalf of something done for the service of your sisters."
"Perhaps you should send me away if I am so much trouble."
"That is a possibility. Your father would object no doubt, but he may be brought to see reason, yet. My sister Phillips in Meryton has no children. She might very well welcome your company. Many gentlemen come from London seeking Mr. Phillips to write contracts for them He is well able to put you in the way of some very eligible young men." She peeked over Elizabeth's shoulder. Lady Catherine's carriage was no longer visible on the road. "I shall not be sorry to see you away from Rosings for a while. You have been there so long this time I have worried that perhaps you were being groomed as a companion for Anne. Your father might accept that, but I am not yet ready to surrender my hope to see you properly married—somehow."
Elizabeth's face grew cold. Mama would not surrender her, but Papa would?
"Yes, I believe you have a very good idea there. I shall write her directly." Mama's skirts swished and the door shut behind her.
Elizabeth leaned her forehead on the glass pane. Mama had never understood sarcasm. Why should that change now?
Perhaps a visit to Meryton would not be so very bad, though Aunt Phillips was a great deal like Mama. But Mr. Darcy would not be there.
She closed her eyes and hugged her shoulders. Would he actually come to call? It was one thing for him to ask for permission, but another thing all together for him to actually do it. Dare she hope? How good it would be to hope, even dream, but how very, very dangerous for her heart.
How much safer to belief he regarded her as a friend to his sister, that there would be nothing more. Cold suffuced her chest and she shivered.
To Meryton she would go.
*****Papa stayed that night at Rosings, so her first dinner at home was a pleasant one. Without Lydia to engage more than her share of the conversation, Mary and Jane were able to finish their own sentences. Even Mama listened to them. All in all, a wholly remarkable meal.
Though her neither bedding nor linens boasted the quality of those at Rosings Park, the comforts of her own room far outweighed the loss of luxury. She slept more restfully than she had in weeks, unencumbered by the worry she would have to attend Miss de Bourgh at a moment's notice.
The first rays of morning danced through her window pane, pausing only briefly to take hands and circle round the drapes on their way to tease her awake. She yawned and stretched. The counterpane embraced her, whispering she should sleep more. But even with Lydia and Kitty away, her morning ramble would still likely offer her only opportunity for contemplation today. So she hurried to dress and be on her way before anyone else arose.
The morning dew on Mama's flowers hailed her as she stepped outside. She closed her eyes and drank in a deep breath. More than anything, this was the smell of home.
How very odd indeed, her reception yesterday. How very little Mama found to criticize. She should be grateful, but gratitude remained elusive when she could not trust what she saw. Jane would scold if she knew Elizabeth's thoughts. Jane was such an optimistic and forgiving soul. Would that she could be more like her, able to release her burdens and forget transgressions so easily. But years with Mama left their mark.
Still, it was far better than what she expected when Papa returned. Would that his stay at Rosings continue. Not that she wished ill on anyone there, but perhaps if Miss de Bough turned her ankle? Or perhaps Lady Catherine might lose her voice. That was a happy thought indeed.
And one she should not be thinking—no not at all. How ungracious and unkind—
"Miss Elizabeth."
She started. "Oh, Mr. Darcy." Her cheeks heated. If only he knew her uncharitable thoughts.
"I am pleased to see you this morning. May I walk with you?" He bowed.
"Yes…I…that would be lovely."
He gestured for her to proceed. "Are your family in good health?"
"What there are of them at home, yes, very good health. Nearly half of them are at Rosings Park currently though, so you would be more cognizant of their health than I. So, sir, are my family in good health?"
A dear little dimple appeared in his right cheek. It rarely made an appearance at Rosings. "Your sisters are in excellent health—and spirits."
"Oh dear. I had not considered—are they too high spirited for Miss Darcy?"
Jane and Mary might make fitting companions for Miss Darcy. Their tender heart could easily sooth Miss Darcy's anxieties, but Lydia and Kitty? She shuddered.
"Miss Lydia is a very lively girl."
Surely he could not mean that as a compliment.
"She is not your equal."
"Lydia is generally considered the prettiest among us—after Jane of course, and her disposition the most agreeable."
"I can see there is some company who might say so. I am not among them, though." He paused and met her gaze with a penetrating look that dared her to see what was still too wonderful—and frightening—to bear.
If only she could rest in the notion of his regard. But what if…dear Heavens…what if he looked too closely and found her wanting? If he turned back and demanded she not follow? That would be—
"I pray I have not disappointed you this morning."
"I do not take your meaning, sir."
What a foolish thing to say. Of course she understood. Best she turn back to home now and not prolong the conversation. Best left those words understood, but unsaid. That would lessen their pain.
"When we last spoke, I asked you if I might call upon you."
She bit her lips to force them into an expression not utterly revealing. But—botheration—no words would form.
"Instead, I have hoped in Providence to allow me to meet you here instead."
Her eyes burned and she turned her face away. "You need not explain."
"Yes I do, for already I see you misunderstand." He trailed his fingers along the side of her cheek.
How could so fleeting a touch have the power to shake her to the very core? Why did he discompose her so? The approval, the warmth of his eyes strained her control to threadbare wisps. She must not weep and appear a fool.
"I am sorry to say, your father was in high dudgeon yesterday."
"I am not surprised." What might he have said in her absence? Surely he believed her exiled from Rosings for some transgression too great to name.
"I could not—would not risk calling at the house and being denied your company. I apologize to you for my impropriety. My desire to keep company with you is stronger than my sense of protocol." He stroked her cheekbone with his gloved thumb.
She closed her eyes, savoring the gentleness of his touch. Her skin tingled beneath his hand. Surely the flutterings in her belly were not cause to call for Papa—oh! She winced.
"Miss Elizabeth?"
"Forgive me. I…had a thought of Papa."
"Do you fear he will disapprove?"
"His opinions will be guided by Lady Catherine. I expect she has very different expectations of you—and me."
"What of you. Do you disapprove?"
How could she respond to such a question? To answer honestly was to invite fate to snatch away her happiness, but to fail to respond would wound him.
"You are hesitant to speak your true sentiments?"
"How do you know?"
He took her hand and lifted it to his lips.
She must not swoon.
"My sister wears the same expression when she fears someone will censure her opinions. I will not press you for an answer because I believe I may infer it from your eyes. But, my dear Miss Elizabeth, I pray you know you need not fear my disdain. How many times have we debated our ideas in these woods? I should hope by now, I have proven that while I may not always agree with you, neither would I ever scorn you for holding an opinion different from my own." His fingers tightened over hers.
She could not escape answering him. Papa would have allowed her to dip in a meaningless curtsey and dash away without argument or comment, but not this man. This intense, compelling man who reveled in her independence of thought and idea, who encouraged her to expressed what she truly thought and celebrated in the stimulation it brought to their conversation. He would not accept escape in place of honesty. She swallowed hard.
"You have indeed proven yourself. Long held habits are not changed in an instant, I fear."
"You will find I am a patient man, and I can wait. Instead, allow me a different question." He offered her his arm and they continued walking. "Tell me of your next birthday, when is it and how old will you be?"
How could that matter…oh! "In a fortnight sir, I shall be one and twenty."
She dared not peek at him, but he squeezed her hand against his arm. "A fortnight is not so long. And on that day you will have a certain…independence? Be able to make certain… decisions?"
She stumbled over a leaf and gasped, clutching is arm for support. Could she make such a decision apart from Papa's approval?
He turned to face her and caught her other hand, stepping too close. Far too close. Close enough that the warmth of his frame spread over her. The fragrance of sandalwood and something uniquely his own enveloped her, inviting, no demanding. She balanced on a precipice, between everything she longed to escape and everything she ached to embrace. Invisible cords of duty bound her, clawing at her, demanding she obey.
"Elizabeth?" His voice cracked.
She wavered, leaning heavily into him, the weight of the moment a featherweight from being too much to bear. The notion never crossed her mind. But she could. The possibility was there, or would be soon. Her chest tightened under the weight of duty. In but a moment it would suffocate her and deny her what might be her only chance for freedom.
"Yes. Yes, I will...be able to decide."
He closed his eyes and released a tortured breath. Tension sloughed away and—was that a prayer of thanks that escaped his lips?
Had she understood properly? Did he actually intend—
His eyes opened and poured out his soul. He had meant everything he had not said. Half a step more and he was all but pressed against her, touching but not. He tugged her bonnet string and the knot came away.
She trembled, craving the stroke of his fingertips along her face.
He pushed her bonnet back. A breeze swept her hair. She shivered as if naked in his presence. His shadow hovered over her, sheltering, covering her. His lips grazed her temple, the barest whisper of passion so intense, her knees quivered in his wake. He rubbed his cheek, dusted with traces of stubble, against hers.
"Do not doubt me, Miss Bennet. I am quite resolved. My only regret is that this shall be the longest fortnight of my existence." His breathy whisper caressed her neck.
She pressed into his cheek, relishing his scent, his strength. "Of mine as well."