It had often been remarked on by others that Elizabeth was of a disposition to laugh herself out of ill humour, and so she did. With a few calm days of no company but Mrs Mountford’s, and books and music and a trip to the tea shop, she was beginning to feel quite herself again. By the time Friday came, she found herself dressing eagerly for the trip up Claverton Down - keen to be out in the fresh air of the countryside and to see trees and fields again.
The previous morning had brought a note from Mr Darcy to say his carriage would accompany the gigs and curricles, should either of the ladies of Laura Place prefer to travel a little more comfortably. Elizabeth knew not what to make of this piece of civility, but Mrs Mountford, who had previously been of a mind not to go, suddenly declared she would – ‘to see the young people at play!’
It was only a few minutes past the appointed hour when the sounds of two gigs and a curricle were heard in the street outside, together with the low rumble of Mr Darcy’s stately and luxurious coach. Elizabeth tied her new hat upon her head and they walked out onto the street to greet the whole party
Mr Yorke jumped down from his gig. “Miss Bennet, your chariot awaits. What a splendid hat that is, very fetching.” He bowed low then held out his hand with the intention of helping her up into the seat beside him.
Mr Darcy strode purposefully up the street and without a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’ addressed Mr Yorke. “This is yours, Yorke?” He looked over the gig distastefully and poked his riding crop at the wheel.
“Well, no, but it’s mine in so much as I rented it for the day for a shilling.”
“I wouldn’t pay a shilling to buy it,” Mr Darcy snapped disparagingly. “You are not seriously expecting Miss Bennet to ride in such a disaster? She had better go in the carriage.”
Elizabeth rankled against his high-handedness. “Miss Bennet will be fine and is quite able to make up her own mind about where she would like to travel.” She gave her hand to Frederick Yorke and thanked him, but practically leapt into the gig herself she was so affronted.
From her new position on the bench seat, she heard Mr Darcy utter a word under his breath which she thought might have been ‘obstinate’. He then walked Mrs Mountford down the street and handed her into the carriage, before taking a seat in his other vehicle, a curricle which was parked behind Mr Yorke’s gig. This rather studier looking equipage contained Miss Bingley, who was gamely trying to look pleased to be perched atop, but Elizabeth noticed how she frowned at the way the wind blew and the horses shrieked and pulled on the reins. Behind Darcy sat a gig driven by Colonel Fitzwilliam who had Sophy Yorke for company. They waved gaily at her. Elizabeth supposed Harriet Yorke and Georgiana had chosen to ride in the carriage. She took time to envy them - her relationship with horses had never been a good one and the tiny gig she was sat on did admittedly look a little worn. Every movement they made caused a creak and a groan from one or another of its parts. Mr Darcy’s carriage looked extremely inviting and she supposed there was plenty of opportunity, before they set off, to change her mind. However, she had equal amounts of courage and stubbornness, so kept to her seat.
The horses were eager to be exercised and Mr Yorke whipped them into a great speed. They flew out of Laura Place and onto the main road out of Bath, scaring pedestrians onto the pavements and causing all manner of carriages and riders to swerve. Elizabeth overheard an oath or two directed at them.
As the houses faded away and the lush fields of spring, decorated with wildflowers, began to spread out before them, Elizabeth tugged on Mr Yorke’s arm. The noise of the wind and the rattle of the gig prevented proper conversation, but she shouted out to him that wouldn’t it be better if they were to slow down a little to enjoy the scenery. He shook his head and smiled at her. Whether he had not heard her, or just chose to ignore her wishes, she couldn’t say. Instead she was forced to hang on, one hand gripping the brim of her hat and the other the rail around the bench of the gig. She looked behind and to her dismay, saw no sight of the others.
As they tore on, she looked back several times more and after twenty minutes or so was rewarded with the strangely comforting, very welcome sight, of Mr Darcy’s curricle, moving at a furious pace to catch them up. As he drew closer, Mr Yorke, hearing the noise of another set of horses, looked around and set about whipping his own again, driving them on. Then Elizabeth had a dreadful moment of genuine fear, when one wheel of the gig hit a rut in the road at high speed. She was bounced violently, almost out of her seat and the gig, thrown off course, came perilously close to a stone wall that bordered the way. There was an awful screeching sound when the wood and metal of the gig scraped against the wall and for a moment Elizabeth thought the vehicle was sure to break apart and they would both be thrown to the ground. She braced herself for the impact but it fortunately never came. Somehow, miraculously, the gig bounced off the wall and back onto the road again without great calamity. The horses, now skittish with alarm, reared up and danced. Mr Yorke used the reins to bring them back under control and Elizabeth breathed easily again, but to her disbelief, once they had calmed, he looked eager to urge them on again.
Mr Darcy however, was now very close behind them and at a wider patch of the road, increased his speed, manoeuvred expertly around Mr Yorke and positioned his curricle full in the middle of the way so he could not be passed. He then slowed to a far more sedate pace, forcing Mr Yorke to slow down also.
“Darcy, what do you think you’re doing? If you are going to go so slow, you should make way.” Mr Yorke yelled at him.
Mr Darcy turned and Elizabeth gasped at the look on his face. He was so extremely angry. If she had thought him cross after she had turned down his proposal at Hunsford, it was nothing to the pure rage that appeared to consume him now. He looked fit for murder.
This was enough to silence Mr Yorke, who gave her a taut grin and relaxed back into his seat. “Well, Miss Bennet, I am afraid that is our sport done.”
“I can assure you, Mr Yorke, I have had more than enough excitement for one day. This will do me very well indeed.”
When they reached Claverton Down, Mr Yorke jumped from the gig and marched across to Mr Darcy’s curricle, clearly with the intention of taking umbrage with him for blocking his way and forcing him to go slowly. Darcy was already handing Miss Bingley down to the ground. There then followed an exchange of words between the gentlemen, low but heated, which Elizabeth could not hear from where she still sat, but whatever was said caused Miss Bingley’s eyebrows to raise. Frederick Yorke had seemingly forgotten about her and he stomped off into a thick set of trees. Elizabeth was about to clamber down from the gig herself. She was half standing when Mr Darcy strode over and without a word, picked her up about the waist and set her on the ground. The shock of such unexpected contact - the ease with which he had lifted her, and the feel of his strong hands upon her – all combined to make her a little breathless.
His face showed concern. “Are you unharmed?”
“Completely, thank you.”
He nodded curtly. “Good. I don’t know how I should have explained it to your father if anything had befallen you.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s curricle was now pulling up behind them, along with the carriage and Darcy went to greet them, leaving Elizabeth to wonder why on earth he thought it would have been his duty to explain such a thing to her father? What an odd, complex man he was. Caroline Bingley came up behind her. “Did you enjoy the ride, Miss Eliza?”
“I cannot say I did, Miss Bingley.” Elizabeth admitted.
“It was at times a little fast. Although of course, Mr Darcy took exceedingly good care of me and he is such an excellent driver. I was not frightened in the least.”
Elizabeth looked down at Miss Bingley’s shaking hands and felt a sudden and unexpected burst of sympathy for her, and she, took them between her own and patted them. Miss Bingley looked exceedingly grateful and, for an awful moment, Elizabeth thought she might burst into a sob. “Perhaps we shall be lucky and it will begin to rain before we are due to head back. We might both claim the use of the carriage for the return journey.”
A completely unguarded and genuine smile brightened Caroline Bingley’s face and they shared a look of understanding. It was a brief moment of companionship and a truce which could not possibly be maintained. Indeed, Elizabeth would have gambled on it not outlasting lunch.
Mr Yorke joined them again after a few minutes, his usual broad smile having reappeared. He offered one arm to Elizabeth and the other to Caroline Bingley and off they walked towards the top of the hill in order to admire the view. Elizabeth looked over her shoulder several times to see Mr Darcy seeing to the comfort of Mr Yorke’s sisters and Mrs Mountford, before directing his servants in the setting up of their picnic.
They spent a pleasant half hour taking in the scenery. It was a spectacular view. If she had been on her own, Elizabeth might have thrown her arms out and run full pelt down the other side of the hill into the downs below. As she was in company and dressed very finely, she resisted, although not without some effort. They were gradually joined by the others, Mr Darcy, Harriet Yorke and Mrs Mountford being the last to make it to the top. Frederick Yorke murmured in her ear, urging her to take a walk with him in a small wooded area to their right. Elizabeth could well guess at his intentions and the reason why he so desired privacy and ignored him, retreating instead to the safety of her aunt’s side.
“You know, Elizabeth, it makes me yearn for home.” Mrs Mountford smiled at the vista before them.
Nodding, Elizabeth could only agree. “I confess I feel quite a longing for Oakdene at the moment.”
“Perhaps one or two more weeks and we will say our goodbyes to Bath, if you are agreeable?”
“Yes. I am agreeable,” she said, thinking of the pretty house they shared and all her favourite walks around it; a place where quietude and serenity ruled.
Mr Darcy whose arm her aunt was still supported by spoke in his usual, earnest way. “I should hope now we are acquainted, we might see each other again soon, as neighbours.”
Mrs Mountford chuckled. “Neighbours, you say Mr Darcy, it must be thirty or even five and thirty miles between Oakdene and Pemberley. Why, they are in different counties.”
“Oh Mr Darcy would consider that no more than a hairsbreadth away,” cried Elizabeth. “He would call even fifty miles an easy distance.” Their eyes met. His were surprisingly full of warmth and recollection and Elizabeth could not help but be affected by the light in them. She found herself unashamedly returning his look, acknowledging the memory of a long ago conversation, glad they were both able to be amused by it now.
A sudden gust of wind whipped over the hillside. Elizabeth had not bothered to tie the ribbons on her hat. It flew up and off, watched by them all and landed in the lower branches of a nearby tree.
“Never fear, Miss Bennet,” cried Mr Yorke at once. He threw his own hat to the ground, tugged off his coat, and with great show, proceeded to climb the tree which had claimed her headwear. He sprang up the first few branches and reached across, grasping and trying to get near it, but his actions were in vain. He lost his footing and slipped down, prompting a gasp from the ladies. Not to be outdone, he began the process of climbing up again.
Mr Darcy meanwhile walked calmly over to the tree, raised himself up to his full height and used his stick to pluck the misbehaving garment from the branch. He walked back to Elizabeth and with great gentleness put it back on her head. To her great shock, he then began to tie the ribbons beneath her chin.
“Now, we must fasten this more securely, Miss Bennet, for as Mr Yorke said, it is a splendid hat, very fetching.” He stood so close, his tall frame blocking out the sunlight. His head was bent down, focussed on the task. She examined him more closely than she had ever thought to do previously. He had very strong masculine features; features she realised she liked very much – a determined chin, prominent cheekbones, an aquiline nose, rich, dark eyes. His fingers brushed against her neck as he worked and the touch called every one of her senses to alertness. When he was seemingly satisfied with his efforts he stood back. And then, Frederick Yorke was at her side, having donned his coat and hat again. The three of them stood awkwardly together before Mr Darcy turned away sharply and walked over to where his sister was. Elizabeth looked up at her current suitor and saw something she had not noticed before - next to Mr Darcy he seemed a bit of a fop, a dandy. His waistcoat was gaudy; his necktie was arranged in a ridiculous, overcomplicated knot. His hair was too long, too fair. He was an overgrown boy. She had thought him handsome. Now she saw nothing but a face whose features were exactly where they should be, but he held no attraction for her. His eyes seemed too blue, his chin too smooth. He was too thin. In short, he looked nothing like Mr Darcy. Nor did he have Mr Darcy’s steady character, or quiet, shy manners, or his incredible kindness. Which she found was a great problem. A terrible problem!
The knowledge that she was in love washed over her with such force, like a great wave and it made her tremble. She was surprised she managed not to cry out at the realisation, such was the shock of it. She was in love however, with the wrong man - with Mr Darcy.