1805

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was seventeen when he proposed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet for the first time. She was fifteen.

A rather luxurious luncheon had been displayed on the grass, on an immaculate cloth—far away from the house but still on the grounds of Hartfield, the beautiful, well-maintained Bennet property. The food had been quickly devoured, and now Bingley and Jane were playing croquet, while Elizabeth sat on the riverbank, hatless, in the moving shadows of the weeping willow.

Miss Taylor, the governess, had comfortably settled on a thick cotton sheet near the remnants of the meal, embroidering and watching the croquet game, smiling at Charles Bingley's antics and the always very proper answers of Miss Jane Bennet.

"Hide me, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth asked the young gentleman at her side. She began to unlace her boots. "I want to dip my toes in the water."

Fitzwilliam Darcy panicked. "Are you joking?"

He quickly glanced at Miss Taylor, who paid them no heed. "You cannot do this," he whispered. "It is not proper. It would be a conduct unworthy of a lady. Also, you have to call me Mr. Darcy, I am in Eton now."

Elizabeth removed her first boot and Fitzwilliam Darcy turned red as a beet.

"Are you going to keep yours…" He gestured toward Elizabeth's white cotton-clad feet. Clearly, the word "stockings" was not one a young gentleman educated in one of the best universities in the world was allowed to utter.

"Of course, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth whispered back with all the sarcasm she could invoke. "I am not going to show you my…"

No power in the world would have enticed her to pronounce the word "ankles", but she hid her blush. She would not become Missish. She would not take airs, especially not for Fitzwilliam. She would not become like Caroline, Charles' sister, who came back each summer from finishing school acting even more obnoxious.

The second shoe was discreetly disposed of and put aside, to be hidden from view if Miss Taylor looked in their direction—wise decision because the kind-hearted governess threw them an affectionate glance before getting back to her work.

Then, rebellion. Elizabeth's feet barely skimmed the water, just enough to disturb the bright, silver surface. It hardly wet her stockings, but still, it felt like an act of mutiny, some tiny piece of freedom after all the dance moves, the proper postures, the endless piano and drawing lessons that Miss Taylor had at last painstakingly convinced Mr. Bennet were necessary for his daughters' future. Oh, and also French. And Italian. And singing.

But at last it was July, and Fitzwilliam came home for the summer with Charles in tow, and the two Bennet sisters begged—well Elizabeth begged, Jane asked politely—Miss Taylor to reduce the infernal rhythm of their new "necessary" education.

"You are not behaving properly," Fitzwilliam commented haughtily. "And you are fifteen now. My aunt is right, you Bennet girls have been suffering from an unforgivable lack of schooling. She says you have been running wild."

Elizabeth ignored him. Water was cool under her feet. She sighed and closed her eyes. "I love summer."

Fitzwilliam watched her for a while. The sun, playing on Elizabeth's white dress. On the stockings of her half-revealed calves. On her muslin fichu. Caressing the skin of her neck, the turn of her cheek. Her fluttering eyelids.

"We should get married," he said.

This was such a change of tone that Elizabeth opened her eyes. "I— Sorry?"

"I mean. Later," Fitzwilliam added, with a distracted wave. "In a few years. When I am back from school, and you are properly educated."

"I—" Elizabeth tried to think. She read novels; marriage proposals were important matters, and you had to answer them in a respectable way. "I—am quite flattered, Fitz—Mr. Darcy, but—"

"My aunt will disapprove, of course." Fitzwilliam was deep in thought. "But mother will like it, and Aunt Cathy always listens to her, in the end. And our union makes sense, even if— I guess I could do better. Your dowry is fine, but your mother was— I could make a better alliance. I suppose I should."

"Thank you, Fitzwilliam. You do me great honor, but—"

"But then, our families have always been so close, and uniting the two domains would be a wise move. I think, yes—I believe father shall be pleased. You will have to speak to me with proper respect, of course. Do you want me to announce our engagement tonight?"

"No!"

Elizabeth regretted her outburst instantly. If she told the story to Jane and Miss Taylor, she wanted to be congratulated on her ladylike behavior. "I apologize for my lack of manners, Fitzwilliam. But I do not wish to marry you."

He scoffed. "Of course, you do."

"I do not."

"All the young ladies want to become mistresses of Pemberley. My wife will be a very fortunate creature—Elton said it."

"I do not need to become the mistress of Pemberley. I will be mistress of Hartfield, when Jane does marry."

"You should be flattered, you know. Getting the heir of Pemberley, only because we are neighbors. This is what my aunt warned me about, in fact." Fitzwilliam Darcy reflected for a moment. "Really, you are lucky I even thought of you."

Lucky? Elizabeth had no intention to marry ever, but if she did, she would choose someone…kind. Someone who smiled. Someone romantic who took her hand in his and wrote sonnets and did not always criticize her actions. Someone like her sister, but, you know, a man.

"I do not feel lucky. I do not want you to think of me. I think… I think you are mean to me."

"What? I am perfectly gallant!"

"You are not! You are—haughty and scowling—and this expression your face always makes—yes, this one! You act like you are above your company, our company. We have been friends for all these years but you—you are too high and mighty for us now—you are always disapproving— Even Charles is tired of you sometimes!"

"This is a lie!"

"He told me! Well, he told Jane, she told me, and—"

"You are not even really that handsome! Tolerable, maybe, but…"

"I shall never marry you," Elizabeth hissed.

"I did not really want you anyway. I—"

"Elizabeth, Mr. Fitzwilliam, is something the matter?"

Miss Taylor. Walking toward them. When had she risen? Elizabeth scrambled to hide her boots.

Too late. The Bennet sisters' governess was of a mild, reasonable character, but seeing one of her charges, at the wise age of fifteen, voluntarily exposing part of her legs to a gentleman was enough provocation even for her.

If she was of a temperament to yell, she would have. As it was, Elizabeth was severely scolded and sent home, thoroughly humiliated. Miss Taylor went to see Mr. Bennet directly; the gentleman sighed, tried to make light of his daughter's misdeeds, and uttered jokes, but Miss Taylor was adamant, and Mr. Bennet had to sermon his child and choose an appropriate punishment. Elizabeth had even more lessons, she had to listen to even more speeches about appropriate conduct and Fitzwilliam Darcy's proposition of marriage was very soon forgotten.

1811

"Mr. Bennet, Miss Bennet," Darcy said, entering the drawing room with the ease of a dear friend of the family, used to go in and out of the place at all times—he even had his favorite armchair. "You both seem somber. Is this a day of mourning or a day of joy? And are you sure you need this fire?" he added, glancing at the powerful blaze. "It is rather hot outside."

"It is," Elizabeth confirmed. "The guests suffered all afternoon, but they pretended well enough. The vicar would be satisfied, vanity was punished. The ladies who only wore light muslin could bear the oppression, but those who added silk, cashmere, or jewels suffered for their sins."

Darcy only smiled. "I am sorry I missed the ceremony. I hope you conveyed to Miss Taylor—Mrs. Weston now—all my wishes of joy."

"I did, sir," Elizabeth answered very properly.

"Sit, my boy, sit," Mr. Bennet said, waving toward the armchair. "The fire is burning because of me, I fear. I am always cold those days. Elizabeth bears the temperature like a martyr from the Gospels, if martyrs used irony as a tool of rebellion against their oppressors."

"I hardly feel the heat, father", Elizabeth said, the amused light in her eyes a good illustration of her father's words.

"I fear she inherited her sense of humor from you, sir," Darcy said, still smiling, while Elizabeth ordered tea.

Darcy had always felt happy in this room, he realized. It felt homey and welcoming in a way Pemberley did not anymore, since his parents' untimely death. Jane Bennet married Charles Bingley two years ago—yes, try as he may, Darcy still thought of Elizabeth and Jane by their first names.

Jane and Bingley now resided in London, where Bingley was managing his father's affairs. Darcy had been afraid that Hartfield would feel as deserted as Pemberley was, now that Mr. Bennet was sickly and only Elizabeth was left to tend for him. But his fear did not come true. The love between Elizabeth and her father was palpable, Darcy was warmed by it, and sometimes it felt like there were only the three of them left in the world. It created a sort of welcome intimacy; it felt—yes, it felt like home, another home, spending the evenings at Hartfield, helping Mr. Bennet with the responsibilities of his estate and trading affectionate barbs with his second daughter.

The truth was, Darcy cared for Elizabeth. He felt their affectionate, sometimes adversarial relationship during the first years of their lives gave him the right to act like an old friend.

All news from London was soon shared. Jane and Bingley were as happy as ever in their comfortable apartment, little John was healthy as a young fawn and with the same questionable sense of equilibrium.

"I felt an air of melancholy when I entered this room," Darcy stated, after a short hesitation. He looked at Elizabeth. "You will miss Miss Taylor's companionship, I am sure."

Elizabeth raised her eyes with a sad smile. "I will. But what friend would I be if I did not rejoice in her happiness?"

"As certain as I am of my powers of mesmerizing people with the sheer strength of my intellect," Mr. Bennet intervened, "I am worried for Lizzy. She will feel the lack of a female companion—of a companion of any sort. You will entertain her, will you, Darcy? Take her on walks and stuff her ears with news of your mines and the agricultural prowess of your tenants. Seriously, she needs to hear another voice than mine."

"I will entertain her, sir, I swear."

"I am beside myself with joy," Elizabeth said dryly.

"Indeed, Miss Bennet. I know how you cherish my presence and my scintillating conversation."

"Do you now?"

Darcy was very amused. "I will do better. I will ask Georgiana if she is amenable to coming home this summer. Then Pemberley will have a hostess, and we will organize…whatever gatherings fashionable people are supposed to enjoy, I guess. Tea parties, outside on the grass. Archery, elaborate dinners—Georgiana will know."

"I am exhausted just envisioning it," Mr. Bennet said.

"Honestly, sir, so am I. We will let the ladies enjoy all the sophistication, we will retreat to the study, pour ourselves some brandy, and pretend to talk about Aristarchus of Samos."

"Pretending to be clever—one of my favorite activities."

"I wonder how you would have turned out, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, keeping her eyes on her work, "if you had not found yourself with the rowdy, barbaric Bennet girls as your closest neighbours. Who would you have talked to? Who would you have played games with? Would you have even ventured outside?"

"Two rowdy, barbaric Bennet girls? Your sister Jane has always been perfectly civilized, as I recall."

Elizabeth smiled. "Well played."

"And on this note," Darcy said, rising, "I shall quit as I am ahead because Pemberley is waiting, as is William Larkins, I suppose. I wish you both goodnight and pleasant dreams. Mr. Bennet, I will see you tomorrow night, so we can settle this petty matter of taxes you mentioned last week."

"A petty matter for the owner of Pemberley, mayhap," Mr. Bennet smirked. "For us here at Hartfield, the matter is of some importance. But you patricians will never understand the struggles of the plebs."

This was all theatrics, of course. The Bennets were quite well off and in no danger whatsoever, even if the tax issue did not resolve itself in a satisfactory manner. But this was a game Mr. Bennet liked to play with Darcy's father; they debated in Latin about fortune and enjoyed themselves immensely.

"I will walk you out," Elizabeth said. "The truth is, some fresh air will do me good."

Darcy asked for his light summer coat back and they stepped outside through the western door, stopping for a moment on the stone steps—there they had a view of the rose garden, then the trees and the hills. A pleasant breeze flowed between the leaves, carrying the potent fragrance of the fields having roasted all day under the burning heat.

"Oh, how I love summer," Elizabeth said, closing her eyes for a moment.

"Yes, you always did." Darcy felt at peace with the world. "Do you remember," he said, seized by a sudden impulse, "that day, ages ago, on the riverbank? When I asked for your hand in marriage?"

Elizabeth turned red. "Oh please, do not remind me. When I think of—" The mere idea of showing her feet—her stockings!—to a gentleman. "No wonder you proposed, you had to save me from my own brazen behavior." She turned to Darcy with a half serious, half bemused expression. "I never apologized for my conduct, sir. Let me do so now. I was very wrong, and you must have been quite horrified."

"No, I am the one who should apologize. I remember some of the things I said— My rank, my so-called importance in society… I was a stupid coxcomb, and I am very sorry."

"You called me 'barely tolerable,' you know."

"What? I did not."

"You did!" Elizabeth protested, laughing. "Or maybe just 'tolerable,' I do not quite recall."

"I do not remember this," Darcy protested haughtily. "I believe you are making this up, Miss Bennet, to further shame me."

"At least you preferred me to Jane. All this talk about dowries and uniting the estates, you should have chosen the eldest, but no, you talked to me. It was flattering, in a way."

"Your sister is the most beautiful, charming woman that ever existed…"

"Of course."

"…but we all knew she was destined for Charles. I think he must have been in love with her since— Forever."

"Oh yes. And she felt the same. She never expressed it, of course, you know Jane."

"At least one of you understood what being a lady entailed."

Elizabeth just laughed. "And you intend to let me breathe the same air as your sister all summer."

"Well. You made some progress. You know," Darcy added in a more sober tone, "some of your reproaches were true—I did speak to Bingley later that week, to ask him if I really acted as if I were above my company. Bingley was very kind about it of course, but…"

"He said there was truth to the allegation?"

"It was a severe accusation. Saying that I behaved badly to my longtime friends because of—unjust pride… I took the matter seriously."

"Well. You made some progress."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet—I live for your approval. And now I really must go. I wish you both a good evening."

"Good evening, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth answered with an exaggerated curtsey. Then she returned to her father, while Mr. Darcy asked for his horse and rode back, along the perfectly maintained lane, to the luxury and the shadows of Pemberley.