Chapter 6

Six

The air remained crisp, more mid-winter than April. Rare sightings of sunlight amongst clouds were so unexpected and inviting that after leaving Anne in Gilchrist's care, Darcy continued rambling. He had no particular destination in mind, but his feet— the traitors —led him to a certain young lady's favourite haunt at the edge of the park, a grove which no one but Elizabeth herself seemed to value.

In the distance, Hunsford's church bell tolled six times, marking the death of a parishioner. Three strokes, twice. An adult female . Removing his hat, Darcy bowed his head and said a prayer for the soul of the departed woman. The knell then sounded one stroke for each year of her life. Twenty-nine. Not much older than I. Too young.

Continuing through the grove, he considered retreating when Elizabeth, advancing in his direction, was spotted through the trees. Fearing she might turn away upon descrying him, he stepped forwards and spoke her name. Her heightened colour, Darcy supposed, resulted from the perverseness of another encounter with him. Or might I entertain the notion that, after reading my letter, she has changed her mind and has thrown herself in my way? By George, I truly am an arrogant lout. No doubt, her rosy bloom was from being out and about on that hibernal morn.

"We meet again, Miss Bennet."

As she neared and curtseyed, he noted that although her cheeks were rosy, her eyes did not appear at all brightened by the exercise. In fact, they looked swollen, like his sister's after a bout of weeping, and he wondered whether it was the consequence of having read his letter. Darcy nearly fell to his knees.

"What is it?" he asked, dreading her answer. "What has happened? Are you unwell?"

With the sort of civility he envied, she replied, "I am well, thank you." Only after turning her face skywards did she smile. "It is a fine day for a walk, albeit chilly. One could hardly complain of being incommoded by the heat thus far this spring. The sun's return, although weak, is most heartily welcome." Elizabeth's puffy, red-rimmed eyes studied the surrounding park. "During my sojourn here, I had hoped to see some of Kent's gardens in bloom, but I fear prolonged frost will severely delay planting or destroy whatever has been sown already."

Darcy could converse eloquently and effortlessly with a marquess or a duchess, even royalty, but he found it difficult to do so with Elizabeth. Weather and agriculture, though, were subjects he could discuss with ease.

"I believe this is the coldest spring we have had since ninety-nine. So, yes, the harvesting of crops may be late this year and of a low yield. As for blooms, although Rosings Park's gardens are rather too formal for my taste, I wish you could see the flowers in all their splendour. In Kent, gardens are as common as people are in London." The look on her face gave him pause. What? What did I say?

"Do you mean common as in vulgar—with a lack of refinement and taste?"

"No." He heaved a sigh. "I meant common as in prevalent." His explanation seemed to appease her, for she no longer scowled. In a gesture indicating the entire park, Darcy added, "These seventeen acres are maintained by a battalion of gardeners and labourers overseen by Gilchrist, a master gardener. Lady Catherine disparages the man as having little sense because he has yet to solicit her own, as she calls it, gardening proficiency ."

The smile Elizabeth offered was as weak as the sunlight, but it encouraged him to continue, and he pointed southwards. "The eccentric owner of the neighbouring estate was in the Highlands several years ago acquiring plants native to that region, such as bog myrtle, heathers, and such. While there, he hired Iain Gilchrist, a much renowned horticulturist, for Rara Avis. In Gilchrist's own words, he was ‘uprooted from his Scottish home and planted in Kent'. As you may know, Scots are preferred master gardeners, for they have the best training. I employ one myself at Pemberley."

"Does Gilchrist work for both Rara Avis and Rosings?"

Why did I broach this subject? I certainly shall not be mentioning the rumours to her or to any lady. "No, only the latter. While I was here last Easter, Gilchrist came to me asking for a position at Rosings, claiming he was intrigued by the possibilities a larger estate offered. He came with excellent references. With good reason, Lady Catherine does not care for the young gentleman who inherited Rara Avis. He is too free-spirited for her liking. So initially at least, she was proud that Rosings Park's grandeur lured Gilchrist away from Mr Brinton."

Having struck upon a befitting change of subject, Darcy said, "Of late, my cousin Anne has taken a keen interest in botany, particularly the flora hereabouts. As we speak, she is being assisted by Gilchrist in putting together an herbarium, or a Flora, as she calls it."

"You mentioned hiring Rosings Park's head gardener, and it made me realise you must be a very capable but busy gentleman, what with the overseeing of your own grand estate, the assistance you gave Mr Bingley at Netherfield, and tending to matters here for your aunt and cousin. You take on a great deal of responsibility, sir."

"It certainly keeps me out of trouble." Pleased to have Elizabeth's undivided attention, he smiled and added, "Well, mostly ."

"How are you able to spend so much time away from Pemberley?"

"I employ a competent steward, a matchless housekeeper, responsible groundsmen, and as I said, a superb master gardener. He and his under-gardeners work long hours caring for the archery, cricket, and bowling lawns as well as maintaining proper temperatures in the conservatory and orangery. We also hire, as necessary, myriad seasonal labourers to tend the grounds and orchards."

Darcy thought that moment might be an auspicious opportunity to demonstrate an interest in her relations. "Speaking of working the land, do you not have an uncle who is a gardener? I seem to recall Miss Bingley mentioning such."

Why is she rubbing her brow? Has she a headache? Blast. Narrowed eyes and the pressing together of her lips did not bode well for him.

Planting her fists on her hips, Elizabeth turned blazing eyes upon him. "No, I do not. However, I do have an uncle, aunt, and four cousins whose surname is Gardiner. G-A-R-D-I-N-E-R."

The spelling was done with painful slowness, as though Darcy was dim-witted. Why had he not shown an interest in those who were most important to her? Why had he been unwilling to associate with the people she held dear?

"I am deeply ashamed, and I apologise for being presumptuous. Your relations deserve respect."

"I hope you are not begging forgiveness on behalf of Miss Bingley, sir. You are not to blame for her misinformation."

"True. But I have made numerous blunders myself, abominably stupid ones, where you and your loved ones are concerned. For those faults, I beg your pardon."

Given absolution, Darcy thought Elizabeth the most generous soul of his acquaintance, but being in her charming company after a failed proposal was sweet torture. Her presence threw him into not only contrary feelings of disquiet and delight but determination. A resolution was formed. He would change for the better, not only in the hope of improving her opinion of him but because it was the honourable thing to do. He would be patient and perhaps, God willing, the woman he loved would grow to think better of him.

Hugging herself, Elizabeth rubbed her upper arms. "Shall we walk? 'Tis chilly standing here."

They entered the park's bisecting avenue that over the years the sun had bleached to a stark whiteness. Crunching seashells beneath his boots, Darcy rattled away about the whelks, cockles, and limpets that had come from a bay bordering Margate. Why am I babbling about marine mollusks? Why are we even speaking of this when there is a letter to discuss?

"You once hinted that I am of a taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak. But no longer can I hesitate to raise the matter of my letter, which I wish had never been penned. Please tell me you burnt the wretched thing." Darcy glanced her way, but she made no response. "My purpose in writing was to warn you about Mr Wickham. I also hoped, and still do, it might make you think better of me. However, I fear my explanations and certain wording therein may have caused you pain." He longed to see her expression, but the pretty bonnet she wore obstructed his view.

She stopped walking, scuffing the toe of her boot against washed-out seashells. "Upon initial perusal yesterday, I wanted to rip your letter to shreds." Looking him in the eye she added, "Now I treasure it."

Darcy sucked in a breath. " Treasure it? I rather imagined you might have wanted to rip me to shreds after reading such bitterness. Please say you might one day forgive me."

"For which of your transgressions do you now seek forgiveness, sir? Your treatment of Jane specifically or the way you behaved towards my family, friends, and neighbours? Had I not read your letter, I would have added Mr Wickham to that list." The soft leather of Elizabeth's gloves strained against knuckles as her hands formed into fists. "Needless to say, the scoundrel has lost my esteem."

The smile she then offered was a sad sort of one. "I cherish the trust you have shown by relating your dear sister's misfortune. You may count on my discretion." Gesturing towards the grove, she said, "Shall we make another circuit of the park?"

Darcy agreed with brisk readiness. The sort of unreserved, uninterrupted, and intimate communication she seemed willing to share with him was nothing short of his heart's desire.