Chapter 7

They had remained together above an hour the next day. Their conversation had traversed some of the same subjects, but to Darcy’s delight, they also spoke of more general matters, such as the volume of poetry Elizabeth was presently reading and his affinity for historical works. When it was time to separate, it was with the understanding that they would see each other the following day, which was Sunday, but might not be able to speak privately. It made him anxious. His time in Kent was quickly coming to an end, and he longed for some certainty regarding when they would be together again.

“I do not know if my aunt will invite you to spend the evening at Rosings, as she did last week,” he had said. “Even if she does, you have seen enough of her behaviour to know it would be impossible for us to exchange more than commonplaces.”

She had laughed. “Will you think poorly of me if I say I am not certain I wish her to issue an invitation?”

“Nothing you say could make me think poorly of you.”

His comment had made her blush. It thrilled him to know he could affect her in such a way, and he cautiously believed her view of him had materially improved.

He had added, “Although I love and respect my aunt, she is not the easiest company, and some of her behaviour towards you has been abominable.” After criticising her family as severely as he had, Darcy wanted to show that he was not blind to the faults of his own relations.

“I cannot like how she orders Charlotte about, but it is not my business, and, in some ways, Lady Catherine has been very generous to her and Mr Collins,” Elizabeth had said. “Unless the weather is poor, I see no reason why I shall not continue my custom of walking each morning on Monday.”

She had not looked at him as she spoke, and there was the slightest edge of uncertainty in her tone. He took it to mean she was uncomfortable with their changing connexion. He had not responded beyond nodding and smiling—but not too broadly, which might frighten her—when she glimpsed in his direction.

As predicted, no invitation was extended. Darcy suspected it was because he had informed Lady Catherine—yet again—that he would never marry Anne, for the first time also hinting that his interest lay elsewhere, and that he and Fitzwilliam would depart in a couple of days.

Early Monday, Darcy encountered Elizabeth along the path that led to the stream. They bowed and curtseyed as usual, but then strolled in silence for a time.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “I hope you understand that I deeply regret my past behaviour. To know how you and others perceived me has been…edifying. I do not blame you for what you thought of me. Do not mistake my meaning. I accept the justice of your words the other night.”

“And I hope you understand that I recognise my errors of judgment, as well. You have been reluctant to do so, which is very gallant of you, but I shall continue to insist on it until I succeed in making you agree.”

He would never view her errors as comparable to his own, neither did he imagine anyone else familiar with the situation would. “I cannot remain much longer. I have already extended my stay, and Fitzwilliam is anxious to return to town. My sister is there and longs to see us.”

“That is understandable. When do you leave? I ought to say I am not surprised and had rather expected this news.” She laughed, then added. “Have you told Lady Catherine? I am afraid she will not be pleased.”

“I did, and she was not.” He wished Elizabeth felt the same. “Unless I tell Fitzwilliam why I am reluctant to go, we ought to depart tomorrow.”

She nodded and stopped to examine a tiny white bloom. Sighing, she said, “I do love the spring, especially once the flowers emerge to colour the world.” She met his gaze. “You must return to your family. Remaining here so that we might stroll the countryside and chat for an hour a day is not a good reason to ignore your sister and your responsibilities.”

It felt as though she had stabbed him through the heart, and he looked away to hide his pain. But then he felt her hand on his arm, and she continued. “I appreciate that you have stayed so that we might address our misunderstandings. I am very glad we have done so, both because I know I have learnt more about myself and how I might improve as a person, and because…because I am glad we have become friends.”

His eyes swung back to hers. Was there reason to hope that she might like him enough to accept a second proposal—not today, but soon? “I could not go knowing we…” Words failed him. How could he express what he felt without saying too much, and possibly frightening her away?

“Were not friends.” She offered him a gentle smile.

He nodded and resisted the urge to tug at his neckcloth, which suddenly seemed to be strangling him. “Do you think that if we continued to meet, we might become even better friends?”

There was a pause before she said, “I believe that is entirely possible.”

Her hand was still on his arm, and he covered it with one of his own.

“Maria and I shall not be here much longer either. Our departure is fixed for Saturday. We go to my aunt and uncle in London, where I anticipate staying for about a fortnight before Jane, Maria, and I return to Meryton.”

At this news, Darcy immediately began to make plans. “Miss Bennet remains in town?”

She nodded. “Did you not realise?”

“No. That might work out very well. I believe Bingley is there at the moment. I had already decided to speak to him of your sister as soon as possible. I do not know what his present feelings are, but I will ensure he knows where he can call on her.”

Her smile was brilliant, and Darcy felt like he had won the second best prize any mortal man could, the first being her agreeing to be his wife. “I can ask nothing more of you. I accept that you were doing what you thought was in your friend’s best interests. Charlotte once told me she felt that few beyond those who know Jane intimately would understand what was in her heart. I am not surprised you could not see how much she liked him.”

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze; she had yet to remove it from his arm which left him quietly rejoicing. “What about Wickham? I have not been able to determine the correct way to ensure his true character is understood. I could write to your father.”

A crease appeared between her brows, and she regarded him for a brief moment. “I think the news would be better coming from me.” Darcy took that to mean it would be more believable if she told him. “I would not tell him everything you confided to me, but I could say truthfully that I met both you and Colonel Fitzwilliam here, and it came to light that our understanding of Mr Wickham was faulty, that he is not honourable and poses a danger to respectable young ladies.”

“That is an excellent suggestion. I shall have my solicitor prepare some proof to send to Mr Bennet to confirm my claims.” When she protested that it was not necessary, he added, “I insist.”

They stood, doing nothing more than looking at each other, for a short while until Elizabeth averted her eyes, her cheeks charmingly pink. Her hand slipped from his arm, but once they continued their walk, she wrapped it around his elbow.

“When we met like this the morning after…that day, I was not sure what to expect except perhaps to feel vexed,” she said. “I left with so many thoughts and emotions coursing through me that it is a wonder I could remain upright. But I have come to enjoy these occasions.”

“May I call on you while you are in town? Unless you tell me otherwise, I shall do everything in my power to ensure we have time together so that you can know me better.”

She chuckled and in a teasing voice said, “I rather thought the answer to your question was obvious, sir. I have been attempting to hint that I would not object to seeing you, so that we can both know and understand each other better. Perhaps now that I am no longer always thinking meanly of you, you will find I am not quite so interesting a person.”

He shook his head. “I assure you, that is not?—”

She began to laugh, and he stopped speaking in favour of rolling his eyes and also laughing. In that moment, he fell even more in love with her. She was bold—but not in an unappealing manner—good humoured, beautiful, and being with her made him happy. Knowing her had already made him a better man, and she would continue to do so for the rest of their lives, because he was confident they would marry.

Darcy inhaled deeply. There was nothing weighing him down, no mocking voices in his head, only Elizabeth Bennet by his side and every promise of a bright future. Out of the corner of his eye, he seemed to catch a glimpse of a little blue devil sitting in a tree. This time, the creature was smiling approvingly rather than waiting to pester him into the doldrums. Its message was clear: as long as Darcy was not stupid enough to destroy his growing connexion to Elizabeth, it and its comrades would never have as much power over him again.