The sheep were laughing at him.
He had been having such a good day, enjoying a ride in the unseasonably pleasant weather, when he had come across them. They were gambolling around around, bleating cheerfully, delighting in the turmoil they were causing him. Or possibly just oblivious to it, but he fancied there was a gleeful smugness in their white little faces.
By now, he was both very knowledgeable about Bingley's leased estate, and reasonably familiar with the neighbouring ones, and as such he was fairly certain that these particular sheep were not supposed to be here. They were supposed to be safely ensconced on Longbourn's land, and this was the source of his trouble.
Being a gentleman farmer himself, as well as a good Christian and a scrupulously honest man, he felt obliged to report the misplaced sheep directly to Mr. Bennet, so that that gentleman could take it up with the appropriate tenant farmer. Informing Mr. Bennet, however, meant calling at Longbourn.
Longbourn. Where Mr. Bennet would be sardonic and Mrs. Bennet would be shrill. Where Miss Bennet would smile too much and Miss Mary would smile not enough. Where Miss Catherine would giggle and whisper and cough, and Miss Lydia would crow and shout and flirt. And where Miss Elizabeth would be… Well, that was the real problem, wasn't it? Miss Elizabeth would be there, would be wonderful, and he wanted to see her desperately but he knew he shouldn't, knew he must avoid giving rise to expectations he could not fulfil.
He stared at the sheep. They sheep stared back (in actuality they ignored him completely, but the mind sees things as it wishes). Then, with a sigh, Fitzwilliam Darcy directed his horse towards Longbourn.
"Mr. Darcy to see you, sir."
One eyebrow lifted. "Mr. Darcy?"
"Yes, sir," came the response. "Something relating to one of the tenant farms, sir."
The second brow went up to join the first. "I see. Well, best send him in then."
Looking tall, imposing and uncomfortable, Mr. Darcy entered the library and bowed curtly. He would have very much enjoyed a thorough exploration of this room, being a prodigious lover of books and also believing that a man's study could tell you a great deal about his character, however he felt he should accomplish his task and take his leave as quickly as possible, because this house held great potential danger for him.
"Mr. Bennet, good day. I apologise for calling so unexpectedly."
"Good day, Mr. Darcy. Not at all." Mr. Bennet peered over his spectacles, eyes glinting with amusement. This was a most unexpected curiosity and he could not conceive of a reason Mr. Darcy should call on him personally. "I presume it must be a matter of great importance."
"Perhaps not importance," said Mr. Darcy stiffly, "But potentially of inconvenience. As I was riding near a part of Netherfield's border I came across a flock of sheep which I believe to have originated from somewhere on Longbourn's land."
"I see. And you felt this required you to ride here directly to inform me?"
Mr. Darcy, unimpressed by Mr. Bennet's disinterested response, drew himself up to his full height and said, "I am an estate owner myself, Mr. Bennet, and if one of my neighbours noticed such a thing I would wish to be informed immediately. The flock appeared mostly gathered together, however there were several sheep and the longer they have to scatter, the more difficult they will be to recover. You may now act as you choose, but I have done my duty in informing you. Good day, sir."
Mr. Bennet held out his hands in supplication. "Peace, Mr. Darcy, peace. I was only surprised at so great a man as you coming to tell me yourself. I appreciate your relating this to me, and I will ride out directly to pass on the message." Mr. Bennet felt he was being positively diligent in going himself to speak with the most likely culprit instead of sending a boy. In fact, he had a rather impish idea as to how to reward himself for his efforts as well as relieve himself of the obligation to continue to entertain proud Mr. Darcy. "I apologise for ending this interview so swiftly, however I must see to this issue at once as you will understand. I am sure my wife and daughters will be more than happy to provide you with some refreshment and conversation as thanks for your trouble."
Mr. Darcy opened his mouth, but before he could decide on a suitable reply (a polite rejection, a polite acceptance, or an inappropriate "Is Miss Elizabeth at home?"), Mr. Bennet had already opened the door and called for Hill. In short order, Mr. Darcy found himself, half horrified and half elated, being presented in the parlour to Mrs. Bennet…and Miss Elizabeth.
Elizabeth Bennet could not have been more surprised that Mr. Darcy, having performed some kind of service for Papa, was to take tea with her and Mama. They barely had time to smooth their skirts and pat their hair (well, Mama did, Elizabeth did not much care what Mr. Darcy should happen to think of her appearance; she would no doubt be merely tolerable whether her hair was neat or not) before he was being shown in. Mama, although she did consider Mr. Darcy arrogant and rude, prided herself on her reputation as a hostess and was not insensible to the compliment of having such a man for tea, and as such was inclined to be warmer toward him especially now his more congenial friend was not there to present such a stark contrast.
"Oh, Mr. Darcy! What a surprise! Please do sit down, I will call for some fresh tea. Hill! Hill! A fresh teapot, if you please, and some of the tarts Cook has made this morning. Do sit, Mr. Darcy. What a pleasure to have you here, although it is such a shame Mr. Bingley could not come also. Still, I am sure he would have been sorry to miss my Jane, so perhaps it is for the best. The rest of my girls are gone to Meryton, you see, although Lizzy has stayed here as our cousin, Mr. Collins, is visiting – from Kent, of all places! He is to inherit Longbourn, you know, due to this dreadful entail. I will go and fetch him, for I am sure he must be wishing to see Lizzy, and he must appreciate having another gentleman to speak with now that Mr. Bennet has been obliged to attend to some estate business."
Mrs. Bennet would not find Mr. Collins – that gentleman had decided to accompany his cousin across the estate that would one day be his – but she did not yet know that, and so she talked herself out of her chair, across the room and through the door, barely taking a breath, leaving the other two in an awkward silence as they tried to recover from her onslaught – one full of mortification, and the other full of contempt.
Mr. Darcy, as much as he might wish to, found himself unequal to starting a conversation with Elizabeth, having been left alone with her so abruptly. Instead he glanced around the unfamiliar room, experienced eyes taking it all in. The window was open a little, and the fresh breeze and gentle rays of sunshine dancing through the colourful and homely room offered a pleasant prospect. Nevertheless, he could not help but observe the small patches of peeling wallpaper, the faded upholstery, the scrapes in the wooden furniture, and the garish collection of mismatched ornaments. As a whole it was a comfortable room, but he couldn't suppress some mild distaste and a wish to see Elizabeth installed at Pemberley, where she would be much better suited.
Elizabeth, for her part, considered and then discarded the idea of entering into conversation herself. Mr. Darcy was gazing around the room as though it had offended him and she had little desire to speak with him. Given that the situation was also quite improper, she began to make her way towards the door. It was as she was conveying an excuse about helping her mother that it happened.
It all happened so quickly, flashing moments of clarity with no idea what was happening in between.
She was crossing the parlour towards the door.
Her slipper was caught and she was off balance.
Mr. Darcy had her arm but she was still tilting.
They were both falling and he was going to crush her.
They had twisted and he was so close.
They were on the floor, a loud thud reverberating in her ears.
The world around her resumed, and she slowly absorbed her situation. She was lying on top of Mr. Darcy, legs entangled, chest to chest. He was very close and very warm and he had a very pleasant scent and he…he wasn't moving. With a sharp gasp she lifted her head. They were so close to the fireplace, had he hit his head as they fell?
"Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy!"
He inhaled suddenly. "…El…Miss Elizabeth. Are you…are you well?"
"I am fine, sir, I am concerned about you. Did you injure your head?"
"No, no. I am…quite well."
"I am glad," she said, rather awkwardly, staring down into his eyes (they were very deep) and acknowledging somewhere in her mind that she had never been so close to a man that wasn't her father. And then, all of a sudden, she realised that they were still in a terribly indelicate position. "Oh, excuse me," she mumbled, blushing furiously as she began to extract herself.
Unfortunately, that was the moment Mrs. Bennet re-entered the parlour.
"Oh!" cried Mrs. Bennet, utterly taken aback at the sight of her daughter bodily sprawled across a very rich gentleman.
The return of Mrs. Bennet was inducement enough for the two on the floor to spring up and apart with almost unnatural speed. Faces flushed and hearts pounding (for varying reasons), both began to talk at once.
"Mama, please, it was an accident…"
"Mrs. Bennet, I assure you that…"
"…he was trying to…"
"…no intention of…"
"…please, there is no need to…"
"…if you insist, I will of course…"
"Hush now," cried Mrs. Bennet. "It is quite clear to me what has happened here. An unfortunate accident, no more. There is no one else here, so I don't see that there is any reason this cannot be kept between the three of us and forgotten, would you not agree?"
There was a collective silence. Elizabeth was almost weak with relief at not being forced to marry unpleasant Mr. Darcy, and underneath that was a sliver of surprise that her mother had not pushed for a betrothal to a rich man when she had an undeniably strong chance at succeeding. Mr. Darcy was torn between great relief and a sharp sorrow that he was doing his best to push down, not quite knowing how to respond to this unexpected scenario that was simultaneously abhorrent and yet so close to everything he desired.
"Mama…thank you."
"Indeed," said Mr. Darcy quickly, trying not to react to the blatant gratitude in Elizabeth's voice and almost overwhelmed with the desire to be somewhere else to process his many thoughts and feelings. "It is very understanding of you, Mrs. Bennet. However, I should leave you now, I think. Good day, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth." And with a somewhat flustered bow, he was gone, barely pausing long enough to accept his coat and hat from the maid.
The two women looked at each other for a moment before Elizabeth sank into a chair, releasing a long shaky breath. They sat in silence as Mrs. Hill bustled in with the tea things that had been requested so recently, and yet so much seemed to have happened since then. She closed the door behind her as she left whilst Mrs. Bennet stood and, quite calmly, began serving the tea.
"You must be more careful, my dear," she said, handing Elizabeth her teacup, on a saucer alongside two delicate little tarts.
"Mama…" Elizabeth was, most unusually, struggling for words. "Why didn't you…why did you not claim the compromise?"
"Oh, my dear, I would hardly insist on your marrying that man! He is handsome to be sure, and rich certainly, but so arrogant, fancying himself so far above us all! And he was so rude about you, my love. You may not look like Jane, but then few do, and to declare any of my daughters merely tolerable! Why, it is not to be borne! No, my Lizzy, you and I may have our difficulties but I would not force you to marry such an unpleasant man, and one you so strongly dislike, unless there were no other option."
With a muffled sob, Elizabeth darted across the room and flung her arms around her mother. She was overset with relief and gratitude, for the idea of marrying Mr. Darcy was a distasteful one (despite how surprisingly lovely it had felt to be so near to him), and although it may not seem much to some, her mother's defence was quite moving to her least favoured daughter. Mrs. Bennet, though surprised, rose to the occasion as only a mother could, quite understanding the surges in emotion that came to all young women, and shushed and rocked and patted until Elizabeth had regained her composure.
"Come now, let us sit and have our tea, and you can tell me what happened."
Elizabeth, feeling the need for comfort more than propriety, tucked her feet under her on the chair and wrapped her hands around her teacup in an unladylike fashion.
"It was such a silly, pointless thing. I tripped, somehow, and Mr. Darcy tried to assist me, but he could not, and…and we both landed on the floor." Elizabeth tried, and failed, to suppress a blush at the thought of their position and how warm and solid he had felt as she lay pressed against him, and determinedly continued on. "I confess myself quite surprised both that he tried so hard to help me, to the point of endangering himself, and that he seemed that he would have agreed to…well, you know…if it had been required. He may have many faults but I must admit I do feel a little warmer toward him now."
Mrs. Bennet sniffed. "I do not. Assisting a gentlewoman in difficulty and doing the honourable thing are basic requirements of a gentleman. He is hardly special for those reasons."
Elizabeth couldn't help smiling fondly at her mother. "Perhaps not. But it is an improvement on his initial behaviour."
"Well," said Mrs. Bennet stoutly. "He has a long way to go before he would be good enough to marry one of my daughters."
There was a peaceful silence for a while, as both sipped their tea and listened to the sounds of the country drifting in through the partly open window. Elizabeth was a little startled to find herself thinking on memories she had not considered for many years, memories of her mother when she was younger, before any of the Bennet girls were out and marriage, though something Mrs. Bennet was keen to see, was not an option. Things had been much simpler then and although Mrs. Bennet was a very different person to her second daughter, there had been a closeness and a tenderness to their relationship then that Elizabeth had somehow forgotten. Feeling a little of that closeness now, she ventured to speak.
"Mama, may I ask you something?"
"What is it, my dear?"
"If you would not insist on…on my marrying Mr. Darcy, even after a compromise, why do you press me toward Mr. Collins so? He is hardly a better prospect than Mr. Darcy."
"Of course he is! Mr. Collins would never say such a thing about you, he has much better manners. And he will inherit Longbourn, you know."
"I'm not sure I would call him better mannered, Mama," said Elizabeth, choosing her words carefully. "I believe he tries, but, well, he does not always come across positively to others."
"But Mr. Collins is always very complimentary!"
"He attempts to be, Mama," she said gently. "But he does not see how others react to him, and that does not speak of an intelligent mind."
"Perhaps he is not clever," said Mrs. Bennet. "But you are. You would manage very well as his wife."
Unexpectedly touched by her mother's faith in her and the compliment to her intellectual capabilities which were usually so derided, Elizabeth took a moment to formulate a reply. "I am pleased that you think that, Mama, but it is not what I would wish from a marriage. I would rather wed someone who…who matches me, and who appreciates my mind. I would perhaps manage Mr. Collins well, but after a time it would make me miserable, especially when he would always be putting another lady's opinion above my own, as he would with Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I could not bear a stupid husband. In that respect, I would be better matched with Mr. Darcy! Rude he may be, but at least we would be able to have a spirited argument about it!"
Mrs. Bennet, stunned and a little disquieted, sat quite still for several moments. This was in one way quite a blow to her, and yet it opened her eyes to something she had not before seen. Elizabeth watched her anxiously, feeling a rare concern for her mother's sensibilities, for she knew how much she had hoped for this match, unlikely as it may be.
"You really feel you would be so unhappy with him?" Mrs. Bennet asked at last. "Even though you would have Longbourn?"
Elizabeth crossed the room, knelt before her mother, and took her hands.
"He could not make me happy, Mama, nor could I make him happy. Longbourn would be a poor comfort to me in a marriage like that, especially given what would have to happen for me to gain it." She paused, then continued gently. "I am confident that at least one of us will marry well enough that you need not fear what will happen if Papa should…should leave us."
Mrs. Bennet squeezed her daughter's hands. "Let us hope so, Lizzy." And then, resolving to think more on this discussion in private, she continued much more cheerfully, "We need not be too worried if Mr. Bingley offers for my Jane. Such a charming young man, and handsome, and so rich too."
Elizabeth's softening towards her mother lingered, despite the return to normalcy, and she smiled. "We should not speak of such things, Mama, but we can hope. Indeed, they would be very happy together – Jane likes him very much already, and they would be quite well-matched, for they both see the world so agreeably."
"Yes, indeed, I always knew my Jane would make a good match! I only hope he does not take too long to come to the point. If he makes no declaration at the ball perhaps I will issue him a standing dinner invitation so they will have the opportunity of seeing each other on a most frequent basis. Perhaps he may bring his sisters, they like Jane very well. And Mr. Darcy, I suppose, for they cannot leave him behind. I will speak to Cook, we must be prepared to have a good dinner whenever they should come!" And so, once again, Mrs. Bennet quit the room, still talking and with no contribution required from anybody else. Unlike the last time, however, Elizabeth was left feeling happier and more comfortable than she had in quite some time.
She reclaimed her rapidly cooling tea and settled contentedly back into her chair, delighted to have some peace and quiet to enjoy her book without worrying about her mother or Mr. Collins. All was well.
Mr. Darcy, standing outside near the open window, where he had been in the process of donning his outerwear, was in considerably more distress.
