13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

" C harlotte, you really must join us outside. The sun is out today, and I can think of nothing better to lift the spirits," Jane urged, her voice light and hopeful.

Slumped in her chair by the window, Charlotte glanced up with a half-hearted smile. "Oh, Jane, you and Elizabeth are wasting your time on me. You ought to go and amuse yourselves. Nobody cares what I do, so why should I?"

Elizabeth, standing with her arms crossed, exchanged a look with Jane. The air of resignation around Charlotte was wearing thin. "Perhaps just a short walk in the garden," she suggested, her tone sharpening slightly. "It is warmer today, and a bit of sunshine might remind you that life does not have to be endured from behind a window."

Charlotte huffed and turned her gaze back to the window. "And what good would it do? Whether I go outside or stay in, it makes no difference. No one would notice either way."

"Charlotte," Jane said gently, sitting beside her and trying to catch her eye, "we notice. We care. You know we do. We just want to see you happy again."

But Charlotte shook her head stubbornly. "You are kind, but I do not want to be paraded about. I just want to be left alone."

Elizabeth's patience finally evaporated. "That is enough, Charlotte. I have quite had my fill of you pitying yourself, and I will stand for it no longer." Her voice was firm, leaving no room for further argument. "We will not sit by and watch you wallow. Now, are you coming outside, or must we carry you?"

Charlotte looked up in surprise, her sulky demeanour faltering. She hesitated, then sighed heavily. "Very well, if it will stop your fussing. Perhaps a short drive in the country, but I will not walk. "

Elizabeth gave a satisfied nod. "A drive it shall be, then. I will fetch the pony and cart." Jane offered Charlotte a warm smile, relieved to see her friend relenting, however grudgingly.

Half an hour later, the three of them were wedged rather snugly into Lady Lucas's pleasure cart. It was hardly suitable for this time of year, but it was the only vehicle to be had at Lucas Lodge at the moment. Therefore, they all bundled warmly against the November chill and piled hot bricks around their feet.

Jane took the reins with a practised ease as she guided the pony along the familiar path. Charlotte, seated between her friends, seemed to sink into the worn cushions, her eyes reflecting a distant melancholy.

Elizabeth glanced at Charlotte with quiet concern. Since their last outing in the cart the previous summer, it appeared Charlotte had "grown." The once roomy cart now felt decidedly cramped. Clearly, her friend's lack of energy had begun to take its toll. Elizabeth held her tongue, unwilling to add to Charlotte's burdens, but Charlotte herself broke the silence.

"I fear I am not the same as I was," Charlotte murmured self-consciously. "It seems I have added more than just a little weight over the winter months."

Elizabeth flushed with embarrassment but quickly masked it with a comforting smile. "Oh, Charlotte, we have all added a bit of padding during the winter. I daresay the gentlemen prefer a lady with some curves."

"You needn't say such things to protect my feelings."

"Protect your feelings, nonsense. I speak from experience—have you seen Lydia lately? And she has no trouble finding dance partners."

Even Charlotte had to snicker at that. "She does… ah… fill out her bodices nicely."

"Precisely! More of us to enjoy, that is what I say," Elizabeth declared.

Jane, who had been unusually silent, glanced over at Elizabeth, her cheeks reddening slightly. She offered a timid smile, clearly relieved by the lighter mood. "Where shall we drive today, Charlotte?"

Charlotte considered for a moment. "Perhaps we should keep to the higher roads, to avoid the worst of the mud."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. "An excellent idea. The view is always better, too. Perhaps Oakham Mount?"

With a flick of the reins, Jane steered the pony towards the elevated path, the cart jostling gently over the uneven ground. Charlotte settled back, a trace of her former self peeking through as the familiar countryside unfolded before them. The only bother was that the wheels slipped three or four times on the muddy road, eliciting a gasp from Charlotte and a sharp intake of breath from Jane.

"Perhaps we should turn back," Jane said after they had slipped for a fifth time. "This cart is far too light to manage the roads in this condition."

"You are probably right," Charlotte agreed… but with such a heavy sigh that Elizabeth's heart squeezed. Oh, no, they could not take Charlotte back home so soon after such a meagre attempt at cheer! They had only barely got her out of the house as it was and were not likely to succeed again if met with "failure" this time.

"Jane, stop the cart," Elizabeth commanded.

Jane pulled the pony to the side of the road, where there remained a bit of spongy grass, and drew him to a halt. "What?"

Elizabeth hopped down, her boots sinking slightly into the muck. "Let me see if the ground is firm beneath the surface," she said, stomping her feet on the path. Mud splattered her hem, and Jane's eyebrows drew together in mild reproach.

"Elizabeth, now your gown is a mess!"

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Charlotte's lips twitched into a tentative smile, slow and cautious, as if unsure whether she could permit anyone to see her happy. Elizabeth, grinning in return, stomped harder, sending more mud flying. "It is only a bit of surface slickness," she assured them. "Nothing to worry about. We may slide a little, but never more than a few inches before we are quite in control again."

Jane sighed. "Your muddy boots are going to soil the inside of the cart now."

Charlotte waved her hand dismissively. "It is no bother, Jane. It will force me to get outside and clean it up. Are you and Lizzy not always saying that having some occupation would raise my spirits?"

Elizabeth and Jane shared a dismayed glance. Charlotte would have to clean the cart? Or was she just saying that out of this recent petulance of hers? At Longbourn, Mr Hill and the stable boy ensured the carriage was always spotless, but the Lucases did not have as many servants, so… it was possible that the duty would fall to Charlotte.

"Do not worry, Charlotte," Elizabeth said quickly. "We will help you clean the cart before it is put away."

"Indeed," Jane added, "We shall have a merry time of it."

But Charlotte was shaking her head. "Oh, I do not require—"

Jane stilled her with a hand on her forearm. "Charlotte. The pleasure would be ours. Truly."

Charlotte's face betrayed a conflicting tapestry of feeling—unworthiness and doubt being the clearest on the surface. But there was also a strong flicker of pleasure at being noticed. "Very well," she sighed. "If you have nothing better to do."

"Better?" Elizabeth scoffed. "What do you imagine we do all day at Longbourn? Dance ourselves silly and host droves of interesting people to tea? I assure you, it will be the pleasantest way to pass the afternoon. Now, help me climb back in so I can set about the business of soiling this thing properly so we have a truly decent excuse to keep to ourselves in the stables for the rest of the day."

Charlotte actually chuckled at that and extended her hand. However, before Elizabeth could put her foot up on the step, another carriage came into view.

Elizabeth's heart leapt when she recognised Mr Bingley's carriage. As it rumbled closer, she squinted, her pulse quickening when she made out her father, Mr Wickham, and… and Mr Darcy inside. Jane's cheeks flushed a delicate pink at the sight of Mr Bingley, but Elizabeth's thoughts were spinning on quite another gentleman.

So, the rumours were true! Mr Darcy was here, and so soon! Did he remember her? That awkward, muddy encounter that had left her mortified and curious about him all at once. Had he thought of her at all since then? She ached to find out, to read something—anything—in his expression.

The carriage came to a stop, and all the gentlemen stepped out—well… all save for her father, who leaned out the window and shook his head when he beheld her gown. But her father's gaze could not hold her interest when there were three others in closer proximity.

Mr Wickham stepped out first, tipping his hat, followed by Mr Bingley, and then her stomach dropped as she locked eyes with Mr Darcy. He looked just as she remembered—tall and imposing, with those intense, dark eyes that seemed to see right through her. His features were as striking as she recalled, too, the sharp angles of his jaw softened slightly by the hint of a smile that tugged at his lips. His dark hair, impeccably styled, framed a face that was both handsome and severe.

His initial smile of recognition quickly gave way to a look of surprise as his gaze travelled down to her mud-splattered shoes. Elizabeth's cheeks heated to scalding. Naturally, she had to have fresh splatters on her gown! He raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and curiosity. She started to explain, even as she saw him start to bow in greeting, his eyes never leaving hers, but then he checked himself .

Of course… they would have to wait upon a proper introduction—he could not politely greet her as if they had already been acquainted. Elizabeth's heart pounded as she forced a pleasant, disinterested smile onto her face and waited for one of the other gentlemen to do the honours. Surely, she could count on Mr Wickham to do the gallant thing… and, hopefully, overlook her state of dress.

Drat it all . Why did she have to go and stomp in the mud just to make Charlotte smile? Mr Darcy would think she did not even own a clean pair of boots! Elizabeth scowled inwardly, and her lips thinned by the instant. The knot in her stomach only sharpened as they stood there, silently staring at each other, the moment stretching out interminably until someone else stepped forward to bridge the gap.

Mr Wickham glanced over his shoulder towards the carriage, where Mr Bennet remained seated, clearly disinclined to get out. Wickham's eyes narrowed slightly, obviously wondering if Mr Bennet intended to do the honours and introduce his daughters. After a second of hesitation, he turned back to the ladies with a charming smile, deciding to proceed himself.

"Good afternoon, ladies! Such a pleasure to encounter you all today! You must allow me to introduce my friend and guest, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley."

Darcy inclined his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on Elizabeth. Wickham continued, gesturing towards them each in turn, "Darcy, this is Miss Jane Bennet, and this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, both daughters of our guest." Another fruitless glance toward the carriage. Elizabeth forced a pained smile as she flicked her eyes to her father, who sat watching from the carriage as if he knew none of them.

Mr Wickham cleared his throat and turned back. "And Miss Charlotte Lucas," he said with another gesture, "the daughter of the Sir William of Lucas Lodge—the fellow we were just speaking of."

Mr Darcy made bows to each of them, but his gaze returned quickly to hers. Elizabeth's heart gave a strange little trip as his brows slanted again at her appearance. The formalities were now out of the way, and his desire to speak was plain in his eyes, but also the silent acknowledgement that the sentiment must wait.

Well, perhaps she would grant him that wish. If they ever had another opportunity.

E lizabeth Bennet . There she was again… and again, covered in mud. Uncanny!

The first time they met, she had been in a similar state, and it seemed time had done little to change her circumstances. Was she always so… indecorous? That faint glint of defiance in her eye suggested that, quite possibly, she was. What a jolly change that would be from the powdered belles who frequented his aunt's salon. He could hardly pay her any notice—not any real notice—but he would be a cad and a blackguard if he did not confess to a burning curiosity about this feral creature who lurked the muddy byways of Hertfordshire.

A scandalous thought struck him and then stuck in his mind to tickle his fancy for a moment before he could catch it and crush it down. Why, this was exactly the sort of woman who would make his aunt and half the ton throw up their hands in horror while the other half crowned her as the Season's bold Incomparable.

The absurdity of it almost made him want to laugh, but not in company, with others looking to him to make the proper courtesies to the ladies they were introducing to him.

But how could he look at either of the other two when she was scorching him with a gaze that was every bit as amused and be mused as his own? She was trying to gauge his thoughts, even as he would have liked to hear her unvarnished tongue loosed once more. If only they could speak freely, but propriety demanded otherwise.

"Forgive us for interrupting your outing," Wickham was saying to Elizabeth Bennet. "I fear we may be inconveniencing you and possibly even delaying your return so long that the weather may become unfavourable."

Her eyes snapped from Darcy's back to Wickham's… blast the man … and her face brightened with a laugh. "Oh, it is no interruption. You merely find me discomposed because I was testing the road for safe travel. Our cart was slipping a little, and we were trying to decide whether we ought to go on."

"I might urge you against continuing," Bingley said. "Even our horses were struggling a bit on the slope. "

Jane Bennet pursed her lips with a look to her sister that suggested this statement had confirmed her own sentiments, but the latter frowned. "But surely, your horses are very heavy…"

"But far stronger than your pony," Bingley replied gently. "If even they are slipping, I fear your poor pony would not fare better."

"You may as well give it up, Mr Bingley," Mr Bennet called at last from the carriage window. "My Lizzy will go wherever she pleases, no matter my thoughts—or anyone else's—on the matter." He put his head back inside, and Darcy heard a distinct chuckle.

Elizabeth's cheeks were scarlet by this time, and she crossed her arms in frustration. Then, however, she seemed to cast off her discouragement in a moment. "Well, then, there we have it. It is not safe for us to continue, so we shall turn back. I thank you gentlemen for your timely advice."

"Shall we escort you?" Wickham offered.

"No, no, that will not be necessary. We were quite safe this far, and besides, how are we to gossip about handsome gentlemen if there is a carriage full of them right behind us?" Elizabeth tipped her head, picked up her skirts, and offered a deep curtsey. "Good day, gentlemen. And Papa ," she added, with a pointed glance at the carriage.

Darcy was fairly certain he heard another chuckle from within the carriage.

"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, stepping forward before the others could, "may I offer my assistance in helping you into the cart?"

Elizabeth's eyes met his, a flicker of amusement and a blush colouring her cheeks. "Thank you, sir."

Her gloved fingers were warm in his grasp, and her grip quite firm. He steadied her as she climbed into the cart, all too aware of the way her gaze kept brushing against his. The proximity sent a jolt of pain through his head, making it throb more intensely. The dizziness followed quickly, a disorienting wave that he tried to attribute to her nearness, but deep down, he knew better.

This was not appropriate. She was interesting, certainly, but "interesting" was not among the qualifications he required in a woman to whom he paid notice. Elizabeth Bennet could never be a suitable bride for him, and never had he stooped to cultivate interest in any female who could not meet that measure… which was no one, so far.

Until now, he had never thought of Elizabeth Bennet as even a true lady in the traditional sense. She was just a curious memory of a strange girl he met in Hertfordshire. But being this close to her again, he realised with a jolt that he had been thinking of her, and far too much.

And now he understood why.

He was fascinated by her, and that was not a good thing. His head throbbed again, reminding him sharply of his precarious health and the uncertainties that loomed over his future. With deliberate effort, he cooled his manner, his expression becoming distant as he released her hand.

Her face changed instantly in response, the warmth fading into a polite mask. Good heavens, had he already been so obvious that she had been blooming under his approving gaze, so much so that when he withdrew it, she froze?

"Thank you, Mr Darcy," she said, her voice measured and formal.

He blinked for a second, then inclined his head in a reserved nod before stepping back to stand beside Bingley. The effort sent a sharp pain through his temple, and he fought to keep his expression neutral as he struggled to suppress a wince.

"We were just returning from an errand of our own," Wickham explained. "I shall see that Mr Bennet is returned to his carriage and set on his way home before the afternoon grows too late. I hope we shall be in company again soon."

"Oh, but we shall be!" Bingley reminded him.

"Indeed, my friend is right," Wickham gestured as if he had entirely forgot. "I was delighted this morning when Mr Bennet brought a dinner invitation from Mrs Bennet, and I am pleased to inform you that we shall all be dining at Longbourn in two days' time."

Elizabeth and her sister exchanged glances. "Papa, you said nothing of this," Elizabeth said, her voice carrying a note of curiosity.

Mr Bennet, who had remained seated with an air of indifference, glanced up from his musings. "What was I to say? Your mother insisted upon it, and I saw no reason to refuse. We shall have all your sisters in attendance, of course."

"It sounds delightful," she said warmly. "We shall look forward to seeing you. Shall we not, Papa?"

Another heavy sigh. "Yes, yes. We shall be delighted, Mr Wickham," Mr Bennet responded with a resigned wave of his hand.

"It is settled then," Wickham declared. "Friday evening, it is."

With the pleasantries exchanged, the parties began to part ways. Darcy frowned as he returned to the carriage and sat beside Mr Bennet, who was, by all appearances, already dozing. Either the man really was the most indolent fellow alive, or he had contrived a means to avoid conversation when the mood was upon him.

Not an… entirely… poor scheme. Perhaps one Darcy ought to contemplate, for this fascination with Elizabeth Bennet could only lead him down a path he was not prepared to tread.