Chapter 8

Eight

Respecting Elizabeth's wishes, Darcy bid her a good day and let her go, but as he watched her walk away, something she had said weighed heavily on his thoughts. ‘You are not responsible for my welfare.' Yes, thank you for reminding me that this heart of mine belongs to someone who does not want it.

Darcy recollected himself before he could be completely overtaken by sentiment, and although he was not directly responsible for Anne's welfare either, he set off after her, anxious about what might have delayed his cousin's return from the outing with Gilchrist. Hoping to catch her before she reached the manor, he hastened towards the carriage house, a two-storey structure housing the barouche, chaise, phaeton, and Darcy's own coach. Above were living quarters for the coachman, grooms, and stable hands. Horses were accommodated in the nearby barn.

He espied her between those two buildings. Anne saw him, he knew she did, but she pretended she had not and strode towards the house at an amazingly quick pace.

Close behind, Darcy raised his voice. "Anne! Where have you been?"

"Not now, Cousin." Tucking something beneath one arm and hitching up her skirts, she broke into a run, shouting over her shoulder. "It is freezing cold, and I am rather late. Her ladyship will have my guts for garters."

Darcy took chase across the lawns, hard on her heels, until he reached her. "How prodigiously eloquent you have become of late. When did you learn to run like that, and from whence has all this unexpected vitality sprung?" His cousin was quite an altered creature since last he had visited Rosings, and he truly was glad that she no longer appeared quite so pale and sickly. "I fear you have been spending far too much time with the head gardener. Your good manners have suffered, and I might have to advise your mother to curtail your visits."

She sped ahead and breathlessly called back to him. "I was not alone with Gilchrist all morning, if that is what is vexing you."

Again, Darcy easily caught up with her. "Who else was there?"

She stopped to spare him an annoyed look. "Where, exactly, do you mean? In the woods? I saw a few squirrels scurrying about."

"Such insolence!" Darcy placed his large hands upon her thin upper arms. "Listen to me?—"

Anne pulled away. "Leave me alone. I was in such good humour earlier, diverted beyond moderation. Now you are ruining it." Panting, she ran up the steps towards the garden entrance.

Darcy caught her by the sleeve, and a book dropped from under her arm. Leafing through it, he scoffed. "Is this your herbarium? It does not contain much. I had expected to see descriptions of plant specimens and, if apt, their healing properties."

Colour rose in Anne's cheeks as she snatched the Flora from him, clasping it against her breast. "Gilchrist and I have just begun." In a tone shifting from defensiveness to challenge, she added, "It is a respectable diversion. Botany is one of the few sciences considered appropriate for genteel women, and I shall not listen to any opposition."

"Just because you enjoy a diversion does not attest to its propriety. What occupied you and Gilchrist all that time? I witnessed you making sheep's eyes at him earlier."

Being two steps above, she stood nose-to-nose with him. "And I have witnessed the way your eyes fix upon Miss Bennet like a hungry little boy at Gunter's!" Turning and grabbing the latch, she flung open the door, barely missing Darcy's face with it.

He followed her into the library. "As difficult as it is for me to believe, I am beginning to entertain unsavoury suspicions about you and Gilchrist. For pity's sake, Anne, have a care for your reputation. Should my intuition prove unerring, shame will be brought to the noble name of your mother. Tell me now, are you engaged in some sort of a"—he swallowed hard—"liaison?"

"Lower your voice," she hissed, "lest servants as far as Rara Avis hear your salacious accusations." Under her breath, she muttered, "How did Miss Bennet put it? Ah yes. For a man of sense and education and who has lived in the world, you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, are a nincompoop ! And furthermore, propriety and etiquette do not always equate with authentic goodness." She turned on her heel and fled the room.

Sinking into an upholstered armchair, Darcy leant forward, shoulders slumped. The cushions on the sofa across from him appeared faded, but his curiosity about such an anomaly was equally dull.

Head in hands, he thought his cousin was entirely correct in her estimation of him. Nincompoop. He had made so many mistakes—assuming Wickham was out of his life once and for all and hiring the nefarious Mrs Younge as Georgiana's companion. Those two errors in judgment had nearly led to his sister's ruination. Then he utterly had bungled his one and only attempt to woo a woman. And by giving Bingley disgraceful guidance, he had broken another lady's heart. Kind soul that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was, he had been forgiven for those trespasses—or so he hoped.

Have I now unfairly accused Anne of illicitness?

Heaving himself from the chair, Darcy decided another reckless ride might be in order, then he thought better of it. He would not put a horse in peril just because he, himself, had failed to put his best foot forward. Instead, he went for a brisk walk through the conifer plantation and contemplated his misdeeds.

Listening with half an ear to the rector's rambling sermon that Sunday, Darcy sat alongside his aunt in the righthand, frontmost pew—the one reserved for the de Bourgh family—and rested his eyes upon Elizabeth, across the aisle, next to Mrs Collins.

"Suffering," intoned the clergyman, "cannot conquer faith. Furthermore…"

Upon receiving a sudden pain in his right arm, Darcy glared at the offending bony elbow. Jabbed a second time, he assumed Lady Catherine had noticed his inattention. Bowing his head, he redirected his eyes to the floor. Her ladyship poked him a third time and asked for his pocket watch. Clearing her throat to capture the clergyman's attention, she held up the timepiece and tapped an impatient finger upon its face.

After that, the service concluded rather abruptly, and the relieved congregation filed out and stood about the churchyard, chatting.

Never a garrulous sort of person, Darcy made an effort to speak briefly to those with whom he was acquainted, all the while hoping for an opportunity to engage with a certain young lady from Hertfordshire and perhaps accompany her to the parsonage. On his way to her, he stopped and joined his cousin who was conversing with one of Rosings Park's leaseholders. The man recently had wed the daughter of another tenant, and the newly married couple stood side by side, sharing affectionate looks. His hand never left the small of her back, and she frequently smiled up at him.

Darcy longed for that same sort of attachment with Elizabeth, or rather, with her as Mrs Darcy.

Into the wee hours, he had lain awake, envisioning such a future. The yearning was a constant, physical ache, and he despaired of ever being able to change sufficiently to win her love.

Familiar, wholesome laughter rang out above all the hubbub and recollected Darcy to his surroundings. Turning, he espied Elizabeth smiling and chatting with the Collinses— and Brinton, that popinjay, of all people!

As parishioners dispersed, Darcy headed towards the Hunsford party, assuming they were taking leave of Mr Brinton.

Instead, upon witnessing Darcy's approach, the master of Rara Avis shepherded them into his carriage. "Sorry, old boy," he called out, "but I have room for only these three." Smiling his perfect smile, Mr Brinton gave him a jaunty salute and hopped aboard the vermilion landaulet.

The equipage carrying Lady Catherine, Anne, Mrs Jenkinson, and Dubois stopped alongside Darcy, but he shook his head at the coachman and said he would walk. Missing Fitzwilliam's companionship, he stopped at the stable to visit his own carriage horses. Refusing to feel sorry for himself, he admitted it was rather pitiful that he had sought the company of animals.

As the stable workers began returning from church, Darcy overheard their chatter, and it soon became evident they were unaware of his presence in the stall.

"There's a thief hereabouts. I heard so at Mrs Chapman's funeral, God rest her soul. Tommy, the errand boy, is Chapman's nephew, and he swears the de Bourgh gold and family silver—dishes, knives, and such—is being nicked."

"A younger voiced piped up. "The butler must have done it. He's the one responsible for the valuables, ain't he?"

"Aye," said one of the grooms, "but that ain't the only embarrassing fact the de Bourghs want kept secret. The frail young miss, who sat in church all innocent-like, goes to Gilchrist's cottage two or three times a week for hours at a time...but only weather permitting, mind."

As the group approached the nearby ladder, Darcy emerged from behind one of his matching bays and addressed the stable master. "Johnson, I should like a word with you."

That silenced the workers, who scrambled up the ladder to change out of their Sunday best before going about their duties. After giving the stable master a piece of his mind for allowing that sort of gossip from his underlings, Darcy walked out into the yard and chuckled at the erroneous gossip about plates being stolen.

When was the last time I laughed aloud? Days? A fortnight? Feels like years. Even without someone to share in his mirth, it felt wonderful to laugh.

Sobering, he knew Elizabeth would take her leave of Kent the day following his cousin's celebratory ball. Therefore, he intended to properly woo the young lady, solve the thievery or vandalism, and discover what in the world his cousin had been up to during her outings.

And he had just over a se'nnight to accomplish all three tasks.

Somewhat of a snip, I should think.