Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T he following afternoon was indeed sunny and dry when Darcy and the colonel led the party from Hunsford nearly a mile over low-rolling hills to reach the storied tree. Darcy was overly conscious of Collins's presence. The cleric had insisted on accompanying them on such a ‘glorious expedition to see God's creation' and, as expected, had done little more than slow their pace and frustrate his hopes to speak to Elizabeth. Instead, Darcy walked with Miss Lucas, a nervous girl prone to untimely giggling and inexplicably terrified of snakes in the grass, and watched Richard enjoy conversation with Elizabeth and Mrs Collins. He took the opportunity to enquire of the girl's family and satisfy his own curiosity about her brothers, who, he quickly learnt, numbered four.

"Charlotte is eldest, then John and Andrew. John once wished to marry Elizabeth, but then swore off marriage to build his fortune. Now he has married and his wife can spend his fortune, my mother says. Andrew is at school reading the law. Peter and Edward claim they will join the navy and fight pirates and Frenchmen, but Peter is only nine and if he cannot sit still in a carriage, I do not think a boat is ideal for him. And Edward is too fond of Cook's pies. He is rather stout and could sink the vessel."

"True," Darcy replied, amused by such a vivid description of a large, boisterous family. "Yet there is always the army. Or perhaps they could prepare themselves for sea battles in rowboats."

"Oh, we haven't any boats. The stream runs underground nearest Lucas Lodge." She stole a look at him and in a hushed voice, stuttered out, "Sir, last autumn, did Mr Collins truly rescue Lizzy from falling in the stream by Longbourn?"

Coughing kept him from laughing aloud. Of course the little toad claimed himself a hero. "There was never any danger to Miss Elizabeth."

As they climbed the final knoll and strode through the open field, gasps of awe and delight could be heard as they neared the massive oak. Its huge trunk sprouted dozens of thick, twisted branches reaching up and spanning the sky. Though nearly half those limbs appeared dead, on the others, a canopy of buds gave proof of life and of the generous shade they would provide when their leaves opened. The black scar burnt onto its broad trunk did not disappoint—all four newcomers quickly noticed the fearsome wolf's face etched within the ashy bark. Wishing to know her thoughts on the impressive sight, Darcy stepped closer to Elizabeth.

"Is it as you expected?"

"It is remarkable," she said. "As tall as anything I have ever seen, and as magnificent as its mythology. And the wolf is so clear!"

"It is God's own creation," declared Collins, his mouth agape as he stared up at the tree.

"It is a frightening size," cried Miss Lucas.

"John and Andrew and the Goulding boys would have used this as a pirate ship or fortress," her sister replied. "With Elizabeth right up in the highest branches."

"Miss Bennet, you are a daring one," said the colonel admiringly. "Had I had a sister like you, my childhood would have been endlessly jolly."

She rolled her eyes. "Your parents are fortunate not to have had such a daughter. Until the age of twelve, I was the source of most of my parents' exasperation."

Darcy said quietly, so only she could hear, "It has changed then, has it?"

He was pleased to see her smile at his brazen joke. "Fortunately for me, less so for my parents. Beyond the travails of my marital state," she said only to him before speaking more loudly, "recall I have three younger sisters, one in particular, requiring more attention. And discipline."

The importance of discipline and order in a household were then thoroughly expounded on by Collins, but his unwilling audience was happily engaged in a close examination of the tree. The three ladies discovered that, holding hands, they still could not embrace the full circumference of its trunk, and in looking up, Elizabeth admitted that she and her surefooted climbing skills would likely face defeat if she dared an attempt to scale even its lowest branches.

"Alas, I have grown too old for adventures in trees," she said. "I can only take its measure by tracing its trunk or collecting its fallen weapons...um, acorns."

She gave Mrs Collins a mischievous smile, prompting the lady to laugh aloud. "Yes, I do recall the terrible acorn battles of our youth. Elizabeth had fine aim." She glanced at her husband, still pacing round the tree, and then back to their party.

"As did I," Richard said with great enthusiasm. He smiled at Elizabeth. "If we were wed, our children would be the terrors of the woods, for I not only had better aim, but was a better climber than my brother or Darcy."

Damnation! Has he lost all tact? First he imagines her a sister, now a wife?

Darcy glared at Richard, who shrugged like the oaf he was proving to be.

"I shall not count conjecture as a proposal," Elizabeth said amidst the uneasy silence which greeted such a declaration. "Even Mr Goulding offered me a toad and one of his sister's prettiest ribbons."

Darcy grinned, shaking his head in admiration for the way she could use her gift of humour to dispel an awkward moment. "A man who forgets the truth about who was the family's best climber should not be trusted as a husband, let alone a colonel in the king's army."

Amidst the laughter, and as they neared the blankets and platters of cheese, fruits, meats, and bread laid out by Rosings' servants, Elizabeth turned and looked at him. "You too are a ‘wretched wit', sir?"

He saw that his amusement pleased her but even better was her smile when he chose a seat next to her. After such an arduous journey on foot, the group drank deeply of wine and lemonade and ate hungrily. Collins extolled the impressive placement of the massive tree. "No other tree dare grow near it, for its beauty demands respect and worship."

He looked round the group and took a large bite of what Darcy suspected was his third meat pie. "As likely," Darcy said pointedly, averting his gaze from the vicar, "the sweeping shade it casts has dwarfed and daunted other saplings, which are denied the sun they need for growth. Not even grass thrives so well under its branches as it does here, mere feet from its canopy."

Richard guffawed. "Never mind my cousin and all his knowledge of estates and farmland, it is clear the mighty tree instils fear amongst its brethren and they have sworn off planting their own roots."

While Collins appeared confused as to whether his opinion was being affirmed or derided, the ladies dedicated themselves to unwrapping the sweets in the picnic basket. Elizabeth held up a tiny lemon tartlet, its crust shiny with a sugary glaze.

"Oh, how Mama would like this for Jane's wedding breakfast," she murmured.

Richard reached for a piece of shortcake. "Your sister weds Bingley in a few weeks?"

"Yes, in May." She replaced the tart and appeared discomfited at the subject she had opened up.

"And perhaps another sister to follow in the coming months," Miss Lucas cried. "Kitty is once again fond of Mr Nugent."

Elizabeth shot her a quelling look, and Darcy—mindful that Collins, drowsily recumbent on the blanket but apparently listening—spoke quickly to Richard. "You have yet to regale everyone with the legend of the ghostly shepherd."

Pleased to take the stage, Richard began the tale—a raucously funny story of missing sheep and swooping branches, night fairies and buried treasure—that their late uncle de Bourgh had told to them and Anne when they were children. As Collins snored lightly, Miss Lucas gripped her sister's hand, her eyes rapt. Darcy thought her a pleasant young lady, decently mannered and full of blushes. Georgiana would not be harmed by knowing her. But Elizabeth, her face alight with merriment, would be a wonderful friend to his sister. A wonderful sister, truly. He knew, watching her as she followed Richard's dramatic storytelling, that Elizabeth would recall the story and share it with her family—and perhaps with her future children. His breath caught.

Our children.

He loved her. He thought he had understood it at Pemberley, when thoughts and memories of her began saturating his every waking moment. Such contemplations had been both an indulgence and a daily struggle, but now, as Darcy gazed at Elizabeth, he knew the true strength of his feelings, of his need for her. In the next breath, he realised he had no idea of what she might feel for him , or whether she even wished to know of his feelings. She was friendly and warm towards him, as she was to everyone. Her comments on marriage and friendship matched his own, but she professed herself uninterested in marriage. ‘ Good teeth and hair'. He looked down, hiding his smile. Knowing that she must accept her next proposal, he could not force her into an unwanted attachment. If I am to be the anomaly, the man whom she does wish as her husband, I wish it on merit and feeling.

Elizabeth Bennet could bring him neither fortune nor connexions. His own relations would see it as a terrible match and baulk at him marrying someone of no consequence in the world. His own parents would have frowned upon it. His aunts and uncles and cousins, even many of his acquaintances, would not appreciate—or even see—Elizabeth's lively spark, her amiable disposition, or the quality of her mind through the fog of their own displeasure and self-importance. It was a loss for them, for a time. His family needed him and he had no doubt they would come round and give Elizabeth the respect and affection she gave so freely, so often.

Too freely, for too many were drawn to her. He must not wait overlong to earn her hand lest another proposal, wished for or feared, was made to her.