Mr Yorke was still whispering in Elizabeth’s ear. She heard only one word in three, such was her distraction, but what she gathered was that he still seemed set on them taking a walk together. She could think of nothing she would rather do less. He reached for her elbow and tugged it a little and she had to wrench it from his grasp. She wanted to say something, to warn him off and apologise for her having encouraged him, but how could she when there were so many people about and her spirits were in such a state?
Fortunately, lunch was announced and they were all expected to trek back down the hill to partake.
A fine array of foods greeted them. Elizabeth thought it as splendid and elegant a picnic as she had ever seen and she suspected it had all been put together by Mr Darcy’s staff and at his instruction and expense. Her plate of food, however, remained untouched. She could only concentrate on the gentleman who had sat as far away from her as possible. Despite the distance, she sensed Mr Darcy’s every movement. She envied everyone he spoke to. It was agony - wanting him to come closer, but too embarrassed to know what she would say to him if he should. Why did anyone wish to be in love? It hurt, physically hurt. Her body ached from such feelings.
The general conversation of the party was of the merits of town versus the country. Elizabeth let it flow over her, disinterested, until she could no longer ignore it due to a moment of deep mortification. Harriet and Sophy Yorke had spoken of having been eager to spend the last winter in London and of their disappointment when both their father and brother had refused to take them.
“I am sorry, my dear sisters,” said Mr Yorke, “to have curtailed the scheme, but father is not well enough, nor inclined to hire a companion for his daughters and I can hardly, as a single gentleman, take my two single sisters to town, can I? How would such a thing be proper?” Then he added in a softer tone. “If I were married it might be different. When I have a wife, it will be different.” He fixed his eyes upon Elizabeth for such a long time that surely nobody could be in doubt of who he had in mind for the position of spouse. Elizabeth wished him a million miles away, cursed the day she had met him. Her gaze could not help wander to Mr Darcy but he was looking down at his plate, so there was no telling what he thought of such a public declaration. Would he care? Likely not. He thought her ‘altered’ after all and just because she had decided she was in love with him, did not mean he was likely to suddenly start loving her again. Four years seemed an awfully long time ago. He had been married since, he was recently widowed. While she had never witnessed any great inclination on either side when she had seen Anne de Bourgh and Mr Darcy together at Rosings, it did not mean love had not grown within the intimacies of marriage, perhaps he still grieved terribly.
Miss Bingley’s voice was loud and pierced the silence that followed. “Miss Bennet, pray tell me, I think we established that your elder sister married a tradesman. But what of your other sisters, are any of them married?”
“Only my sister Mary is not. Kitty is married to a clergymen and is settled near home, and my youngest is married to a militia officer.”
“Oh, not the officer the whole town was in love with when we were in Hertfordshire? What was his name?” asked Miss Bingley.
“I can’t think who you mean.” Elizabeth knew exactly who Miss Bingley meant and dreaded the speaking of his name in front of Georgiana and her brother.
“Do not be so coy, Miss Bennet. Oh, I remember, Wickham was his name. Mr Wickham! I remember certain ladies here finding his company particularly pleasing.” She gave Elizabeth an arch and teasing smile, clearly meaning to wound her. “But perhaps I should not mention his name in front of another gentleman,” she finished, alluding to Mr Yorke with a laugh.
Elizabeth was angry but not for herself, she worried at the pain such a conversation might be giving Georgiana. She wanted to reply that Wickham’s name should not be mentioned in any company and that he should certainly not be given the epithet of gentleman. “My youngest sister is married to a Captain Denny. They are in Newcastle with the regiment.”
“Oh, so a clergyman and a captain of the militia, well it is perfectly fine I suppose. The best one can expect for girls without dowries.” Miss Bingley sneered.
“You have no dowry?” Mr Yorke asked with some surprise. He had been laying on his side near her, propped up on one elbow, his legs stretched out in front of him, but now he sat up straight.
Elizabeth looked at him steadily, her voice slow and careful. “No, no dowry.”
“Oh.” His brow furrowed for a moment before he smiled a little too brightly and picked at a blade of grass.
“You do not know how lucky you are, my dear Eliza,” sighed Miss Bingley.
“Well, I think that is the first time I have heard poverty described as a fortunate state, Miss Bingley.”
“My own dowry has often been a burden. I have had to endure the attentions of many an unscrupulous fortune hunter.”
“And what of the scrupulous ones, how do you endure them?” Elizabeth asked, growing increasingly angry.
Before she could lose her temper completely, Georgiana rescued her by getting to her feet and declaring her intention of taking a walk. She directly asked Elizabeth to join her. It was to both ladies relief that everyone else was still busy eating or too settled to summon the energy to rise. At Georgiana’s urging they walked not up the hill, but down a small path that was overhung with trees. As soon as they were out of sight of the others Elizabeth felt herself pulled close. “Elizabeth, I saw your concern at the mention of Wickham’s name. You must not think it bothers me, you must not be worried for me. I am long over it all.”
“I confess I was concerned, I know a little of your dealings with him.”
“My brother told me he had confided in you. He explained his reasons for doing so.”
“Georgiana. His trust has not been misplaced.”
“I know. He would not have shared it with you unless he thought you entirely trustworthy. I am glad you believed in my brother and gave Mr Wickham up. He was terribly afraid you had fallen under his spell. I do believe it gave him several sleepless nights after he returned from Rosings, the time he saw you there.”
“Oh, I never… Mr Wickham, I admit, well, I thought him perfectly charming once, but there was never any serious attachment, on either side.”
Georgiana sighed. “I am glad of it. I am glad he did not hurt you too.”
“I hope, Georgiana, yours was not a wound of lasting damage. Are you well now?”
“I was not for a long time, not because of the loss of him. I saw what he was later and realised my feelings were borne out of feeling flattered by him, but I did not trust myself out in society for a long while. I hid away. I felt such a fool, so young and gullible. I am better now and I confess, until Miss Bingley mentioned his name, I had not thought of him for some time, perhaps years. I wonder what became of him.”
“Oh, I know exactly what became of him. He married a Miss King, who it was much rumoured had inherited the sum of ten thousand pounds. Unfortunately, Mr Wickham did not account for the fact that the ladies of Meryton have a profound and spectacular talent for exaggeration.”
“Meryton is near to your family home?”
“Yes. Miss King had come to stay there with her uncle and she quickly became his object. Only the ten thousand pounds was not all hers, she inherited just a portion of it and by the time his gambling and other debts were paid off, there was but two or three thousand left, I believe. He was not able, as he had hoped, to leave the militia, and is now still in Newcastle with his regiment. My sister, Mrs Denny, her husband is in the same company of soldiers. I have news of Wickham from time to time. He apparently thinks himself very cheated and ill-used.”
“Oh dear, the poor soul.”
“You are very good to have such sympathy for him.”
“I have no sympathy for him. I was thinking of poor Mrs Wickham.”
Amused, Elizabeth shook her head at Georgiana. “You, my dear, should never be shy in any society, for you are astute and have a great deal of sense.”
“You flatter me, but I do still feel so ill at ease sometimes. I do not understand parlour talk, and some of the ladies have the oddest of manners. I cannot tell whether I am being praised, criticised or made fun of, or indeed, all three at once! I wish I had your confidence, Elizabeth. If I had someone like you at my side I should endure it all so much better.”
“Was your sister-in-law not any help to you in that regard?”
Georgiana sighed. “You did meet Anne, did you not?”
“I did.” Elizabeth said carefully, “but long ago, before she was Mrs Darcy.”
“I had high hopes when Fitzwilliam brought her to Pemberley, of us becoming close friends. We never had been before because our meetings had always been at Rosings, where she said nothing unless directed to by her mother. I am afraid at Pemberley she was even more timid. She spent so much time upstairs. She never walked out, she did not play, she had no interest in books. She was at Pemberley for only a few months before she insisted on returning to Kent and we were all required to remove to Rosings.”
“He must have loved her very much, to leave his home to go to hers?” Elizabeth asked with a heavy heart.
Georgiana shrugged, “I suppose and of course, she wanted to be at home with Lady Catherine, after the tragedy of… oh look.” Her voice was breathless and she pointed to a field of bluebells that had opened up before them. Elizabeth had been so focussed on their conversation she had not noticed, but when she did she smiled brightly, perhaps for the first time that day. The sight of thousands of them, the glorious dark blue that seemed too rich for a flower, spread out for perhaps half an acre before them, was too beautiful for words.
“Come.” She pulled at Georgiana’s arm and they ran towards the field laughing.
Darcy found them sitting under a tree, talking companionably in low tones, sheltering from the rain, looking out over a sea of bluebells. The ends of their petticoats were dirty, hats were discarded, curls had been blown about and tangled. If it wasn’t for the tailored cut and expensive muslin of their dresses, they might have passed for a couple of farmers daughters. The sight made him smile and he thought how such a spectacle would have displeased him a few years ago, to have seen his sister looking so dishevelled, but now her happy and contended face gladdened him. Elizabeth too, looked carefree, less troubled than he had seen her of late. He’d approached them from behind, giving him the advantage, and when he spoke, they both gasped in surprise.
“Greetings. I don’t suppose you have seen two ladies pass this way have you? One fair, one dark. These are ladies of quite high society you understand. They would of course be very finely dressed and looked very pristine and elegant the last time I saw them.”
Elizabeth squinted up at him and spoke in a heavy west country accent. “I dunno who you be referin’ to sir, we happen not be seeing no ladies round here.”
He smiled. By God, she was so sweet and lovely. He adored her. He wanted to throw aside his umbrella, sink to his knees and beg for a chance to show her he had changed; that the reproofs she had delivered in Hunsford had been attended to and he would always try to be worthy of her, to please her. How vain he had been that day, believing her to be wishing for and expecting his addresses, thinking how she would feel the luck of them, when he had made no attempt to win her affection. She must have thought him devoid of every proper feeling when he had been standing in that parlour, in all his repugnant superiority.
He held out his hand to Georgiana and helped her to her feet. “Do you know that you two miscreants have been gone for nearly two hours? The other ladies have been sitting in the carriage since the rain began, waiting your return.”
Georgiana was horrified. “Oh no! I am so sorry, Fitzwilliam. We were having such a nice time and then the heavens opened and we got a little wet. I did not realise how long it had been and then having no protection from the rain we thought we had better wait it out and dry off.”
“Whatever were you doing?” He asked.
“Oh, just running about the bluebells.” Georgiana shrugged.
He saw Elizabeth smile at his expression, which must have been incredulous. “Your aunt gave me this to give you.” He handed her Mrs Mountford’s cloak, which had been draped over his arm and then dropped the umbrella to strip off his own greatcoat for Georgiana.
Elizabeth had gotten to her feet and was sorting out the cloak, preparing to wrap herself in it. He tried not to look. He reminded himself he was a gentleman and she would have no concept of her appearance but she had obviously gotten wetter than Georgiana. Her gown was thinner and a lighter colour. It clung to her, outlining her figure. He had caught a glimpse when she had stood and desperately tried to school himself not to look back, to avert his eyes until she was properly attired. He had already taken liberties that day by tying her hat on and lifting her off the gig. His fingers still burned from the way her waist had felt between his hands. Frederick Yorke ought to have knocked him to the ground.
But in the end, he was only human, devoid of the superhuman strength it would have taken to resist another peek. While she was distracted, his eyes took their greedy fill and he knew it was an image he would never be able to erase from his memory. To him, she would always be perfection. His ideal of what a woman should be.
When she had secured the cloak, she looked up suddenly and caught him staring. He was mortified and blushed, then cleared his throat and led the way back to the carriage.
Miss Bingley immediately begged Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet not to sit by her, for her gown was new and the material had cost seventeen shillings a yard. Places were moved and Elizabeth and Georgiana were confined together in a small corner of the carriage like errant schoolchildren. Mrs Mountford placed herself next to them, claiming she was used to Elizabeth’s muck, and spoke of how her niece managed to keep their local milliner in business through new petticoats alone.
As the carriage set off, Elizabeth was overset by the odd thought that this very comfortable and fine equipage might have been hers had she answered Mr Darcy’s offer differently. The sweet girl beside her would have been her sister these four years and what a delightful companion she would have made. Four years married to Mr Darcy! She flushed and laughed to herself. She might have even had a babe or two waiting for her at home.
“What amuses you so?” Asked Mrs Mounford.
“Oh, nothing.” Then the smile fell from her face, for nothing really did amuse her. She had no hope. Her love was to remain unrequited. His look when she had been securing Mrs Mountford’s cloak about her had been intense, and had given her a set of shivers which were nothing to do with the wet and cold of the sudden shower they had endured. It had given her cause to think perhaps he did still admire her, but she could not properly work him out, and a man who had once been refused, and in such offensive language! She would not be so foolish as to expect a renewal of his love. She no longer believed him full of vanity and self-importance. She could see these days his pride took a proper turn. He was full of pride for his name, his sister and his home, as he should be. But while there was no improper pride, he was still a dignified man and she was sure he would not venture a second proposal to the same woman. He might visit at Oakdene, she at Pemberley - for she would like to remain friends with Georgiana. Eventually he would bring home the second Mrs Darcy; a tall, fair handsome woman and Elizabeth would smile and wish him well, while she was secretly eaten alive with jealousy.
If only she had looked more closely in the beginning, she might have seen who he truly was, but she had been blinded by prejudice. His slight on the night of their first acquaintance, his insult and refusal to dance with her at the assembly in Meryton had wounded her to such a degree that she had been determined to exaggerate his faults, to argue with him at every turn, to always think the very worst of him. It was not his pride that had been the problem, it had been hers. He had been so handsome, so imposing, so worldly looking that night. Her initial hatred of him had been borne out of bitter disappointment. Nineteen year old Lizzy Bennet had secretly been longing to dance with him – and Elizabeth Bennet at four and twenty - what might she give for such a dance now?
The issue of Mr Yorke made her heart heavy too. She would have to lay it clear to him she would never accept his proposals. He had left by the time she and Georgiana had returned and Elizabeth wondered at it. Would a man who claimed to be as enamoured of her as he did really leave without waiting to check on her welfare? He had probably been more concerned his waistcoat might get wet. There was a smallness of character about Frederick Yorke she was only now beginning to see. Yes, he would have to be spoken to and she did not relish the prospect.
The two remaining gentlemen shared a curricle on the way home. Colonel Fitzwilliam surrendered the driving to Darcy and assisted by holding the umbrella rather futilely above their heads, for the rain poured in on them anyway. A servant drove the other curricle behind them.
“Whose ridiculous idea was this outing anyway?” Darcy asked curtly.
“I think it might have been mine.” His cousin answered.
“Remind me to beat you later.” Darcy looked askance at him. “May I ask your advice on something?”
The Colonel stared back at him, silently, for a long time until Darcy exclaimed. “What is it?”
“I don’t believe those words have ever left your mouth before. Is the great Fitzwilliam Darcy really asking another for advice?”
“It is a question about military tactics.”
“I see, go on.”
“Say there was something you wished to capture. A port, a field, a village, but there was another army, in a somewhat more advanced position than yours. What manoeuvres would you apply?”
“Well, there are several options. Distraction maybe, or retreat.”
“Retreat is impossible, the prize too valuable. What form might the distraction take?”
“A salvo of gunfire, the planting of a suggestion that there is more valuable treasure elsewhere.”
Darcy grunted. “It sounds complicated. What are my other options?”
“A full on attack. For this, of course you would need to be sure you have a sizeable battalion, a decent armoury. Damn it, Darcy, are we talking about Miss Bennet or not?”
A rueful grin was his answer. “Am I that obvious?”
“I confess I am such a blockhead I had not noticed it until today. You tied her hat on! How long have you been in love with her?”
“Since…I’m damned if I know…it feels like forever.” It felt such a relief to admit it to someone.
“Since Kent?”
Darcy nodded.
“Well why did you not propose to her then?”
Irrational as it was, Darcy had to fight the urge to throw his cousin off the curricle for uttering such a statement.
“Never mind, I will just say there were obstacles in Kent and there are obstacles now.”
“Is Mr Yorke the only obstacle now?”
“There are two. He is the first one.”
“What is the second?”
“That she does not really like me.”
Fitzwilliam began to laugh.
“This is why I do not normally speak of such matters. I bare my soul only to be laughed at.”
“I am sorry, Cousin. I do not laugh at you. There is just a little absurdity in the notion of you proposing to someone who does not like you.”
“Isn’t there, yes. I am absurd and foolish over her. I am well aware.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam slapped him on the back. “I will cheer you up. Did you happen to observe her and Mr Yorke during the conversation about dowries?”
“No, I was too busy cursing the day he was born.”
The Colonel laughed again. “In answer to your earlier question about tactics, I would recommend a period of observation and patience. She will not marry Frederick Yorke. He has been told by his father he must marry for money.”
“His estate is in trouble?”
“No, I don’t believe so, but the old man is greedy. His son is handsome and very eligible. He will settle for nothing but a favourable match.”
“But surely if Yorke loves her, he would defy his father and offer anyway?”
“Not everybody has your means and independence, Darcy. I know you are a man of action rather than reflection, but you must sit this one out. And, you know, I don’t think Miss Bennet really dislikes you.”
“You do not?”
“No. She looks at you only in mild irritation, not true disgust.”
Darcy frowned at him. “I really will beat you later.”