11. An Accomplished Lady

CHAPTER 11

An Accomplished Lady

D arcy gaped at the young woman before him.

"Roast rabbit? Elizabeth, we have no rabbit. What can you mean?"

Her bright eyes flashed at him. "We have no rabbit yet . I intend to remedy that." She picked up the bow and arrow and started for the door.

"What can you mean?" Surely she was not… She could not possibly… "You do not think to shoot a rabbit! Do you?"

She turned to face him. He could not decide, in the light of the cabin, if her glance was teasing or exasperated. "I do, and I shall."

"But it takes a great deal of practise to shoot accurately with an arrow. Have you ever picked up a bow before?"

Exasperated. Her expression was most certainly exasperated.

"You may come to observe, Mr Darcy," she exhaled slowly, "but I beg you to remain absolutely still and silent. I will not have you frightening off our dinner."

Not quite knowing what he was doing, he followed her from the cabin, feeling a bit like a dog blindly following his master. She walked a way into the trees, and then, from a pocket, pulled out the ends of two of the carrots they had eaten as a sort of nuncheon. These she laid on a patch of moss on the ground, and then, to Darcy's astonishment, began to climb a tree.

She had slung the bow over one shoulder somehow, and strapped the quiver with the arrows onto her back, and made her ascent. One hand reached for a branch, one foot found a grip on the trunk, and so on, until she was quite hidden in a veil of leaves.

"Stay behind that bush there," she whispered, "and do not make a sound."

All astonishment, he could only do as she commanded.

They waited for some time in absolute silence. If Darcy had not seen Elizabeth climb into the branches with his own eyes, he would not have believed there to be anybody else near. Faint sounds tickled his ears: the distant burble of the stream, the rustle of leaves in the slight breeze, the sporadic peeps and calls of the birds, and his own breathing, which now sounded inordinately loud.

Of Elizabeth, there was no indication whatsoever.

Just when he was about to slink back through the trees to the shack, there came another sound, the scurrying of small feet through the underbrush. A nose poked through a low shrub, followed by a head, long ears, and a furry grey body. The creature approached the carrot tops, sniffed once or twice, and then?—

Darcy hardly heard the arrow as it sliced through the air. There was a faint vibration, and the rabbit was dead, pierced cleanly through.

If he had been amazed at Elizabeth's agility in climbing the tree, how much more so was he at her marksmanship. This was no accident. She was a skilled archer.

He was still gaping at the dead creature when she leapt down from the branches and walked up to him.

"Dinner. I believe rabbit is being served."

"Indeed! Shall I rename thee Robin Hood for thy skill? I must beg, however, that in this instance, you do not rob from the rich."

She went to pick up her prey and pulled the arrow from its back. "I have seen the size of your purse, Will. Rich you might be in other realms, but now, you are down to a handful of coins. You are safe from me. For the time being."

She started back towards the shack and he followed.

"When does a gentleman's daughter learn to hunt rabbits?" He tried to imagine his sister hiding in a tree with a bow and arrow, and failed completely. It would be quite inconceivable.

"When one grows up in the countryside with nobody important to impress with one's fine manners and superior airs, one learns a great many things. I was always up a tree as a child, to my mother's despair, and archery is a fine activity for a lady, is it not? How difficult is it, then, to combine these two? I went out more than once with some of the village children when the rabbits were becoming a pest on my father's lands."

They had reached the shack by now, and Elizabeth left the rabbit on the ground for a minute whilst she went inside to find the knife. Then she set about beheading and skinning the creature, before chopping the meatiest parts into smaller pieces.

Soon she had the meat cooking in one of the pots about the hot fire. While it cooked, she went out again and returned a while later with a handful of what Darcy would have considered weeds. She washed them in some water from the stream and chopped them up much as she had the rabbit.

"Sorrel, yarrow," she pointed to some of her treasure, "and Jack by the Hedge. You can tell this one by the little white flowers. My efforts here will not rival what your cook at Pemberley can do, I am certain, but these greens will help render our rabbit a bit more tasty."

She added them to the pot along with a bit of water and smiled as the aroma filled the air.

"Do you assist in the kitchens at home? I had thought your father's income more than that."

Her laughter filled the small space. "We have a cook, and a good one at that, but simply because I am not required to be in the kitchens does not mean that I do not sometimes go for my own purposes. You might not wish to eat one of my pies if others are available, but neither will you starve if mine are all that is to be had. Or," she gestured to the sizzling mess in the pot, "my rabbit stew."

Another of Darcy's preconceptions burst as a bubble of soap. Everything he had been taught led him to expect certain things of an accomplished lady. She must speak French, and preferably Italian or German as well, be proficient at the pianoforte and be able to sing. She must embroider a pretty hem and paint charming landscapes, and assist in arranging the flowers in the church. And these were, all, admirable skills indeed.

But Elizabeth Bennet was quite a different sort of creature. Her accomplishments included climbing trees, killing rabbits, and preparing a meal from bits of nothing in the woods.

Whether she spoke French or sang Italian songs was nothing to the fact that, because of her, they would eat well tonight.

This—this—was an accomplishment indeed.

Perhaps it was not ill luck at all that she had been in the carriage he had appropriated. He might ride faster without her, but he would do no good arriving at the hunting lodge starved and exhausted. And speed, now that he had time to consider it, might not be in his favour. The longer he took to arrive at Coed-y-Glyn, the more likely Wickham was to believe he was heading elsewhere and would be off his guard. If, that is, Wickham was even there.

No, it was really quite fortunate that the fates had blessed him with this unusual creature named Elizabeth Bennet. Now he only had to ensure that she arrived at their destination unharmed!

Jane approached the carriage with an internal groan. Yesterday's drive had seemed eternal, and today's did not bode any easier.

They had risen early and taken a quick breakfast, all anxious to be off as soon as possible. The sun's first rays were still threading through the trees; even the birds were surely still asleep in their nests. It had been an uneasy night for Jane, the first time she had stayed in a room in an inn by herself, with no sister or mother to reassure her, and no maid to assist her, and she had slept very ill. Every noise from the courtyard, every creak of the floor in the hallways denied her the rest she so desired, and she felt more exhausted upon waking than when she had retired the night before.

She took a last, long breath of fresh air before allowing the colonel to hand her up into Mr Bingley's coach for another day of confinement and worry. Once again, she sat beside her father, with Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam across from them. The colonel's assistant, who had nodded politely at dinner the night before and then vanished to tend to some unnamed tasks, had been sent ahead to arrange for a change of horses at the next suitable inn. He would be of no assistance in mitigating the awkwardness in the carriage. With no expectation of pleasant conversation, Jane rolled a shawl up to fashion into some sort of pillow, in the hope of sleeping the first leg of their journey away.

At once, Mr Bingley raised his voice in charitable concern.

"Are you comfortable, Miss Bennet? Would you like me to roll up my coat for you? There are blankets under the seats, if you are cold. Surely, we can pull the pillows out a bit for you."

"Let the poor girl sleep, Bingley," the colonel huffed, sending his glance momentarily skyward. "She can manage without fussing."

"Well, yes, but… It is my carriage and I feel accountable for her comfort. After all, it was also in this carriage that she injured her foot only yesterday."

"I was not injured, sir. It was only pins and needles. They lasted but a moment. I was perfectly well."

Mr Bingley frowned. "I am, nonetheless, most distressed. Perhaps if we all move, we can prevent this from occurring again. Mr Bennet, if you do not mind, we three men can sit on this side, allowing Miss Bennet the use of the entire bench."

"No, Mr Bingley, I beg you! That is entirely unnecess?—"

"I say," Colonel Fitzwilliam now interjected, "I have a splendid idea. If we ask the driver to stop the coach, we can ride on the rumble, or on one of the horses to chase after Hawarden, or on the roof like the mail coach, which will give Miss Bennet the use of the entire carriage. Shall I knock?"

Jane was about to take the colonel to task for his foolish jest, but from the horrified look on Mr Bingley's face, it seemed the younger man believed the suggestion to be in earnest.

"Of course! I was a fool not to think of it. I shall alert the driver at once."

"Might I request permission to sit with the driver?" her father now asked. "I get rather ill on the rumble. Will he mind if I read?"

"Sir…" Mr Bingley looked quite alarmed. Did he not understand her father's attempt at a joke?

"Please, gentlemen!" Jane forced herself to speak over them. "I neither require nor wish any such thing. I only hoped to lean my head against the squabs for a few minutes. That is all."

"You heard the lady, Bingley," the colonel now said. He took the shawl and rolled it up before handing it back to Jane. "Madam. I have experience with such things from my days fighting on the continent. Sleep well."

Mr Bingley glared at the colonel. "I do not mind being laughed at, sir, but I would mind if I could provide my guests some comfort but did not. If I am to have faults, which I do not deny, may my weaknesses be those of concern and compassion."

To his credit, the colonel bowed his head in respect. "That is no weakness. I cannot laugh at that."

The colonel then passed Jane his outer coat as well. His manipulations had made the shawl suitable for resting against, and his coat was warm. Jane muttered her thanks to both men, but even with this momentary truce, disquiet permeated the air. She nestled her head on the makeshift pillow and tried to sleep.

As the day progressed, so did the tension between Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam, until it was almost palpable. If only one of them had chosen to ride, rather than travelling in here all together. Had she only now met the two men, she would have believed that they did not like each other at all. But she had seen them as they arrived at Longbourn two days before, and both had seemed well pleased with the other's company. There had been a seriousness to their demeanours, to be certain, but that was due entirely to the circumstance. Otherwise, they had been polite, even friendly, speaking in animated voices about some shared acquaintance, or some happening in town, and both had been deeply concerned about the events that conspired to make Mr Darcy—the friend to one and the cousin to the other—act in such an uncharacteristic manner.

What had brought their previous easy companionship to this barely civil state? Was Mr Bingley so earnest that he could not understand the colonel's sarcastic comments? But she had seen the young man smile before; he seemed perfectly formed to laugh. But now, at every jibe and jest from the colonel, his jaw stiffened, and his eyebrows lowered.

Perhaps, Jane reckoned after a great deal of thought, it was entirely due to the unhappy purpose behind their journey. The friendly banter between the two would surely reassert itself once Mr Darcy and Elizabeth were found and seen safe and hale.

Jane tutted, not as quietly as she hoped, and tried to disguise it as a stretch.

"A penny for your thoughts, Miss Bennet?" The colonel leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "You appear ill at ease, and I would beg to be of service."

Mr Bingley scowled at him from the corner of his eyes.

"No, I thank you, Colonel. All is well. I am merely… pensive. I worry for my sister, that is all."

Mr Bingley shifted to face her directly. "If there is something I can do," he stressed, "you must inform me at once. Is this carriage not to your liking? Perhaps, at our next stop, I can inquire about another cushion for the seat, or different draperies for the windows if you prefer another colour."

He blinked his large brown eyes at her and gave a tentative smile, almost begging for her approval. If she did not know better, she would imagine…

Oh!

She returned his smile and watched as Mr Bingley glanced back over at Colonel Fitzwilliam with a curt, small nod. The colonel's eyes narrowed just a bit, and Mr Bingley sat back in some sort of victory. Chin high, shoulders back. For the moment, his posture shouted, he was triumphant.

Oh no.

So enrapt was she with this silent battle for supremacy that Jane scarcely noticed her father beside her. His expression was bland and his smile that of polite indifference, but his eyes sparkled with that look she knew so well, and his left eyebrow twitched, almost imperceptibly, in what Jane knew was the greatest amusement.

This was the very last thing she wished for right now. Perhaps it was her imagination at play, but despite having been lauded all her life for her beauty, Jane did not hold herself higher than any other young woman. She did not see preference where there was none, and she was not the sort to imagine every young man in love with her. But now, it seemed, there were two such eligible men, both fighting for her attention. This was terrible.

Not knowing what to do, Jane feigned a yawn and pretended to fall asleep, although she was aware of every bump and jolt of the carriage as it continued its slow progression from Heyford to their next stop, wherever that might be.

They slept in the shack that night. The blankets had aired out whilst they ate the surprisingly tasty meal, and the cots were not as dreadful as Darcy had expected. Or, perhaps, he was so exhausted the state of the mattresses did not matter. They were warm and dry, with full bellies, and there was almost no danger of their sleep being interrupted by a madman out for his blood.

For the moment, at least, he could pretend that all was well with the world.

He was not even horrified any longer at having to change and sleep in the same room as Elizabeth. They had found their pattern: he would step outside whilst she prepared for bed, and she would turn to face the wall whilst he did likewise. It was now only slightly awkward, and he found he did not mind it quite so much.

What was becoming more awkward, however, was his constant awareness of her. He felt more than heard her gentle breath as she slept, that soft and regular change in the air that would not let him forget she was inches away. She slept quietly, but the sporadic wisp of sound as she shifted a limb or rolled over intruded on his thoughts. Even when he closed his eyes, all he saw were her bright teasing eyes and that pert nose, her expressive brows that took him to task without a word, and her determined chin, refusing to be cowed by anything.

And those lips, soft and pink, so tempting even when parched with the dry dust of the road or pinched together in a line of frustration, quite consumed him. When, in the darkest hours of the night and he allowed himself to release the strictest bonds of self-regulation that he could fashion, he even imagined himself kissing them, before he reprimanded himself for his caddish behaviour and forced his thoughts to something else.

But she kept returning to his dreams, and by morning, he had come to the realisation that he was starting to care for her. He briefly wondered if she might ever feel something similar for him.

But no, such dreams must remain hidden away in the farthest reaches of his mind, only to be let free when the moon cast its feeble light upon the earth and there were none to admonish him for his thoughts.

He was Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, and there were expectations. He must marry brilliantly. The second daughter of a middling squire of no great name and less importance was not a suitable candidate for the future Mrs Darcy. His brain insisted, although his heart protested.

It can never be , he reminded himself when his thoughts escaped their strict control. After all, she will want nothing more to do with you once she is returned to her family . And his heart wept a bit at the notion.

Morning came too soon. They rose, as usual, with the sun, and reversed their nightly routine. Elizabeth slipped out of bed while Darcy pretended to sleep, and then stepped outside as he rose and dressed in his rough country garb. What a fright he must look, with nearly a week's growth of beard and only the water from a basin or stream to wash in.

He began to press his thoughts towards their destination, thinking, planning, wondering.

Would Richard be at the lodge once he finally arrived? Surely somebody had heard of his disappearance. Elizabeth's letter home must have included his name. If Richard had the news, he would know where Darcy would go. And hopefully, he would have considered the reasons behind this most ill-conceived flight and would have taken some measures to protect both Darcy and the lodge from Wickham's rage-fuelled schemes.

What of the staff there? His uncle kept a small staff on the premises, but no more than absolutely necessary. The housekeeper lived there, and there must be one or two others to ensure the property was maintained. But how would they accept his unannounced arrival? Would they even know him, or let him in?

There seemed too many things that could go wrong.

It was in this pensive, somewhat maudlin mood, that he fed and watered Dobbin and harnessed him up to the cart once more to continue the slow, plodding journey northward.

Elizabeth was likewise in a quiet mood. She had no teasing words or arch comments, although neither was her disposition as gloomy as it had been the previous two days when the rain fell so heavily. Like the clearing skies, she seemed to have rid herself of some sort of burden and was pensive rather than sad. He wondered what she was thinking, but was consumed enough with his own thoughts to ask.

Dobbin was much more his old self and led them happily along the narrow lane, wending its way ever northward. They made good time and were able to spend a few of their remaining coins on some supplies and food in a bustling town that spanned the River Wye, and with their basket full of enough to feed them all day and into the morrow, and with some wood and a flint, and hay for Dobbin under the cover of the cart, they set off once more.

Elizabeth's mood grew lighter as the day progressed. She had mentioned her family in passing before, but now spoke of them more intimately.

She talked about her sister Jane, older than her by two years and by all accounts the loveliest young woman in all the neighbourhood. "She is not only beautiful, but also possessed of the kindest nature I have ever known." Elizabeth smiled as she mentioned her dearest confidante, and that smile rivalled the sun. Darcy would have driven this simple cart from Land's End to John o'Groats and back, if only Elizabeth would sit beside him and smile. "Some say her nature is too tranquil, and that she shows no real passion for anything or anyone, giving that same sweet smile wherever she goes. But those who know her understand her better. Her heart is good and her feelings run deep, even if the surface of the river appears smooth."

"And you? Are you placid like her, when times are normal?" Darcy could not help but ask the question.

Elizabeth's smile turned to laughter, bubbling and incandescent in the fresh sunshine. "I, sad to say, have never been accused of being placid! No, my feelings are too strong and my tongue too sharp to be placid. I am made for laughter more than melancholy, but I cannot pretend acceptance or ignore a slight when it is offered.

"What of you, Will?" She turned to him. "I pride myself on sketching characters, but yours perplexes me. You chafe at being thought a farmer, but do not object to eating a foraged meal from a single pot. You steal an entire carriage, but insist upon compensating the kindness offered by strangers with good coin. You are, in turn, proud, cold, and considerate, and I cannot decide which makes up the better part of you."

"I? Proud and cold?" His voice filled with ice, and for a moment, he was indignant at her accusation. Then he reflected upon what he had just heard himself say and he laughed. Had he ever laughed at himself before? "Yes. Yes, indeed, I suppose I am. You have the measure of me, it seems. Do I often sound like that?"

She raised her eyebrows and looked sidelong at him. "Not infrequently, I am afraid."

"I see." He paused for a while. "We spoke of this the other day, but it forms a large part of who I have learned to be. I do not consider myself proud in the way of vanity, but I admit to a well-regulated satisfaction in my accomplishments and my position. I have worked hard to form myself into the sort of man I wish to be, and of that, I am proud indeed. I have maintained my father's estate and have added to its wealth and the prosperity of my tenants. I have also done my best to provide a good upbringing for my sister. Although there," he realised with slumping shoulders, "I appear to have failed. I am not proud of that."

"Young ladies of fifteen summers are seldom the wisest creatures in the world." She reached over once more and let her hand rest upon his. "You have done your best, which is more than many can say."

He answered her gentle touch with a squeeze of his own hand and released it.

Elizabeth let the silence reign for only a moment before speaking on.

"I have told you something of Jane. Tell me more of your sister. I know her sad story, but what is she like? What sort of a person is she? What are her likes and her interests?"

Darcy contemplated this for a moment, his heart touched by the question. Nobody had asked about Georgiana in such terms before. Her classmates at school, her companions, the matrons and their daughters who sought her attention in Town, all asked after her lineage, her noble relations, her wealth, and her prospects. Certainly, Wickham had cared little enough for anything other than her thirty thousand pounds. But Elizabeth wanted to know about the girl herself and not the heiress.

"She is a private creature," he said at last. "Some call her proud, but she is, in truth, extremely shy."

"Like her brother?"

"I… that is…" He fumbled for the words he wanted. "I have worked at being more comfortable in society, but it is quite against my nature. I prefer smaller gatherings of familiar people, with whom I can be… with whom I do not need to play myself as in a theatrical performance."

Her eyes caught his again. "Am I such a person?" A trace of a smile tilted her lips. Those soft, pink lips.

Now he returned her smile. "You are, indeed, Elizabeth. I have seldom felt so easy in company. Perhaps it is our… unusual circumstances. I hardly feel the need to perform for others here, on this horse-drawn cart. Without the trappings of society, I can be myself. And you are easy to talk to."

She beamed back at him. "I will accept that compliment. Thank you, Will. Now, tell me more of your sister."

He swallowed the grain of disappointment that she did not confess similar comfort with him, but obliged her, nonetheless. He loved his sister and was pleased to talk about her. "She is quiet, as I mentioned, and loves to read. I have tried to guide her reading to the more serious tomes that a lady of good breeding ought to know—the classics, philosophy, moral writings and the like—but I cannot break her of her love of Gothick novels and other sensational works."

"I can only approve of a young lady who wishes to improve her mind by extensive reading. I, too, find great enjoyment in a good novel."

"Perhaps when you meet, you may discuss your favourites…" He stopped, realising what he had implied. "Forgive me, Elizabeth. I did not mean…"

"You have no need to apologise. I understood your intent. What else does she enjoy?"

The soft tones of fine music filled his ears. "She is a fine musician and performs on the pianoforte with great skill. She took to it as a young child, listening in on my own music lessons. Soon, Mother relieved our music tutor of having to suffer through my poor scales in favour of my sister's sensitive and nimble hands. There, I see you smiling again. Do you play, Elizabeth?"

She nodded. "I do, but rather ill. Still, if the music is not too challenging, I can acquit myself without excessive embarrassment."

"I can scarcely believe that of you. I suppose you sing as well."

In response, Elizabeth produced a few bars of a popular melody. Her voice was lovely. Not, perhaps, the highly trained voice of a star of the opera stage, but a sweet and pleasing voice that would brighten any musical evening.

"Indeed you do. Do you know this one?"

He hummed a section from Mozart's Don Giovanni , and Elizabeth joined in.

Là ci darem la mano,

Là mi dirai di sì,

Vedi, non è lontano,

Partiam, ben mio, da qui.

Vorrei, e non vorrei,

Mi trema un poco il cor

Felice, è ver, sarei,

Ma può burlami ancor.

Give me thy hand, oh fairest,

Whisper a gentle 'Yes',

Come, if for me thou carest,

With joy my life to bless.

I would, and yet I would not,

I dare not give assent,

Alas! I know I should not…

Too late, I may repent.

Whether they had the proper key, he knew not, but their voices swelled together and his heart soared. Did she know the meaning of the words? Did she think anything of them? For now, he would just rejoice in the music, and in Elizabeth's sweet company. And with such impromptu musical accompaniment, they continued through the day until it was time to stop once more for a rest.