part0016

Bingley had not written yet, of course – he would sooner travel to town on foot than set pen to paper, Darcy scoffed with more than the usual vexation. The very notion that he was wasting precious time because he did not know where he should seek her was driving him to distraction.

Was travelling to Netherfield his only option, then? Going to ask Bingley face to face? He frowned. Aye, he would, if it came to that, though goodness knows how he could justify such a drastic course of action without giving rise to speculations or worse still, to questions he had no answers for.

Darcy stopped pacing and dropped the post back on his desk. He lowered himself in the great chair and rubbed his temples. He had spent a large part of the morning poring over estate business, and the struggle to give it his undivided attention had brought on a headache. As with everything in recent months, it was impossible to give anything his undivided attention.

He cast another glance at his papers, then pushed them from him and stood. It was no use, and he was getting nowhere. He rubbed his temples again. He needed a respite – from his papers, from this house, from himself.

He should go out. To his club? Nay, he could not bear it. Hatchard’s, perhaps? Or his favourite small booksellers’ in York Street? Pall Mall maybe, to buy some music for his sister, to follow the pianoforte he had recently acquired for her – although he knew full well that gifts would not compensate for his absence, nor assuage his guilt for having left her for so long with no one but Mrs Annesley for company. Still, it could not be helped. At least this time he had assured himself that the lady was eminently trustworthy, and it was plain to see that Georgiana was very comfortable with her .

Darcy sighed. He knew that although he ought to, he could not return to Pemberley. Not yet. Perhaps the answer was to ask his sister if she would be willing to travel to town sometime soon.

He walked to the window and pushed the curtains aside, then opened one of the small casements. The morning had been miserably wet, but even if the skies were still a dull grey, at least it had stopped raining. The gust of fresh air that brushed over his face was cool and pleasantly refreshing. A walk? Perhaps. It might cure his headache. Aye. A walk would suit him very well indeed.

Darcy took a deep breath as the heavy door of his London home closed behind him, and finished putting on his gloves. He pondered on his destination for a moment, then shrugged. Anywhere would do. Green Park was the nearest, and the Queen’s Library ensconced there, in a small pavilion, might hold his interest for a while.

He ambled along Berkeley Street, crossed the noisy madness that was Piccadilly and wandered into Green Park through the tall wrought-iron gates. He walked slowly past the Reservoir, his gaze drifting over the wide expanse of green, broken here and there by lime trees and tall chestnuts. He smiled to himself, safe in the knowledge that although the Queen’s Walk might be fashionable with some, the time of day was anything but, and he would not be plagued by encounters with the denizens of the West End and their progeny.

A pity he had not taken his latest purchase from York Street with him. It would have been pleasant to find an unobtrusive bench, and enjoy a good book and a moment’s peace, if any peace was to be found.

Seemingly, the notion had occurred to at least two others. Just in front of him, on a bench halfway down a quiet alley, two young ladies sat, absorbed in their books. Or perhaps not so absorbed. One of them, suddenly distracted, abandoned her volume on the seat, stood and moved a few steps away from her companion, only to turn and look into the sky. What was she looking at, Darcy wondered, his curiosity piqued despite himself. Clouds? Swallows? Were there any young ladies left in London who would show an interest in something so mundane as birds and cloud patterns? Or indeed in anything at all, rather than exuding the oh-so-fashionable ennui?

“Elizabeth? By God, Elizabeth!” his voice came in a quiet whisper and before he knew it, he was mere steps from her, his countenance unrestrainedly suffused in all the joy the fortuitous encounter brought him. “Miss Bennet! What a wonderful surprise!” he said, before he could even attempt to remember common civility, or his habitual reserve – only to find, to his extreme mortification, that he immediately followed it with, “You are looking remarkably well.”

‘Good grief!’ he mentally chastised himself. Of all the gauche—! Could he have possibly done any worse? Why, yes, in fact. He could have said what he was thinking – namely ‘You look even more beautiful than I remember,’ he reasoned pointlessly.

The unexpected encounter and his surprisingly warm welcome made Elizabeth more open in her greeting than she might have been otherwise. Instead of a restrained curtsy, she offered him her hand. Darcy took it, belatedly remembering to bow over it, and the cheeks of both were overspread with the deepest blush.

He nervously cleared his voice and looked away, then down at his feet. But no, this would not do! This unexpected, wonderful chance – what fool would waste it on mere commonplaces? He swallowed hard and, uncharacteristically, threw reserve and caution to the wind as he said quietly but earnestly:

“I count myself very fortunate that I chanced to walk this way, Miss Bennet. ‘Tis far too long since I had the pleasure of seeing you.”

“Over seven months, I believe. We have not met since the 26th of November, when I had the honour of dancing with you at Netherfield.”

Elizabeth looked up, surprised to find his memory so exact, and for a few brief moments their eyes met, before she looked away. His openness of manner was nothing short of extraordinary, and although she found it pleasing, Elizabeth knew not what to make of it. She glanced back towards the gentleman, only to see his mien changing under her very eyes, from the earlier friendly welcome to a solemn and almost sombre air.

Curiously, Elizabeth found that countenance a great deal easier to read, and soon discovered she was correct in her estimations, when Mr Darcy offered his condolences and deepest sympathy .

“I thank you,” she replied softly, and fell silent. Perhaps she ought to renew her expressions of gratitude for all his efforts on her father’s behalf, Elizabeth thought. Yet she could not bring herself to do so. She could not, would not speak of those hopeful times, when her dear Papa seemed on the path to a full recovery, or she would burst into tears in the middle of Green Park.

He stopped, his mind devoid of all rational thought, other than the need to find an excuse to remain at her side. He hoped he did not sound quite as boyishly eager as he felt when he asked:

“Would you care to take a turn around the gardens? Or perhaps walk across to Hyde Park? I would be very happy to escort you. Unless of course you were otherwise engaged…?”

He had barely noticed her, Darcy privately owned as he bowed restrainedly to the young woman whom he now remembered as one of Elizabeth’s wild sisters. His reserve returned in full, along with a measure of disappointment. Wholly unreasonable disappointment, as he was well aware. Of course she would walk with a companion, it was natural and advisable. Although for his own peace of mind he wished she would venture out with a more formidable escort than a younger sister, and a foolish one at that.

To his surprise, in response to his bow he received a reserved curtsy and a few civil words of greeting, without any of the girlish giggles he had come to expect from Miss Kitty and Miss… What was the youngest called? Lilly? No, something else… Lydia, possibly.

“I apologise,” he recollected himself, remembering their employment prior to his arrival. “I should not wish to disrupt your morning…” he added, hoping to be contradicted, and to his relief and not insubstantial joy, Elizabeth obliged.

“’Tis of no consequence, Sir. It is always a pleasure to come across an old acquaintance, particularly when least expected. How have you been keeping, Mr Darcy? I trust you are well. ”

Miss Catherine excused herself with a few words and a brief curtsy and returned to collect her own volume and her sister’s from the bench and gather them in her reticule.

In the silence that followed, Darcy’s discomfort returned in no small measure. He knew that, by every standard, he should now ask if they were settled into their new life and new abode in Devonshire – but his every thought recoiled from mentioning Farringdon. He sighed, privately thinking he would have been far better served, had he held steadfast to the view that all manner of deceit was his abhorrence. Having withheld the truth about his involvement last autumn, although condemnable, was at least in keeping with his thoughts at the time. To discuss Farringdon now and feign no connection with it would be indefensible.

“Would you—? That is…” Darcy hesitantly began, then cleared his voice and resumed with more coherence and some semblance of composure. “It would be a pleasure to call upon you and your family, if I may.”

Elizabeth looked up, not altogether certain he was in earnest. Throughout the course of their acquaintance, at almost every turn he had wordlessly indicated that he could barely tolerate her relations – with good enough reason, in some cases. However, detecting nothing but courtesy in his address, and some genuine interest she could not justify, Elizabeth declared they would be very pleased to receive him.

“Oh, of course, I apologise. We are houseguests of Mrs Jennings’, a family friend from Devonshire, and she lives at No. 20.”

Darcy nodded, striving to conceal his relief at the intelligence. Ever since she had mentioned staying with friends rather than her uncle and aunt – which was the norm, according to Mrs Bingley – he could not shake the dreadful notion that the connection was already close enough for her and her relations to have come to town as Colonel Brandon’s guests.

He wished – feared – that any intelligence could be had on that score, but knew he would still have to wait. She would hardly have cause to give it, and he could not ask .

Miss Catherine returned to their side, and all three stood in silence for a few long moments, until Elizabeth made a passing comment about the changeable weather they had lately.

“Quite so,” Darcy concurred, rallying his wits. “Knowing your fondness for walks, Miss Bennet, I imagine the wet weather must have been a severe trial on your patience. Or am I wrong in assuming it had the power to keep you indoors?” he added, as the memory of her making an appearance at Netherfield to tend to her sister resurfaced in a flash, warming his heart and his countenance.

“Only in part, Sir,” she laughingly owned, and the amused sparkle in her eyes robbed him of all power of speech, until with an effort he was able to turn to her sister.

‘Either that, or the society Meryton had to offer’ , Darcy thought unkindly, but endeavoured to check himself. He would show Elizabeth’s sister every courtesy, and would do well to remember that, although in very different ways, his own conduct had been far from irreproachable.

“Yes, Mr Darcy, I did,” he heard Miss Catherine say, “and still do, perhaps to an even greater extent. I have to confess to being a willing participant in all of my sister’s schemes,” she concluded with a fond smile towards Elizabeth, which Darcy unconsciously mirrored.

“I must confess myself quite tempted, Mr Darcy, as I caught a glimpse of the Serpentine on my last visit, and I left town with the regret that I did not have the opportunity to walk around it,” she finally said.

“I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,” Darcy replied with a warm smile, “but I feel I should warn you, ‘tis at least two miles all around the Serpentine and the Long Water.”

“What is two miles to a determined party?” she said, with a brow slightly arched in that fashion he found both adorable and irresistible. “It must be a delightful walk. Yet…” she hesitated, and despite herself, she finally owned, “It might be a little late in the day for it. Mrs Jennings prefers to keep country hours, and often chooses to dine early. ”

“I see. Then an earlier start would be preferable,” Darcy said with obvious disappointment “But perhaps you would permit me to escort you and Miss Catherine back to Portman Square, and we might set a better time, for another day,” he suggested, and Elizabeth smiled.

“That is very kind, Mr Darcy, but I should not wish to detain you. We were hoping to have a look around the Queen’s Library before making our way home.”

“So was I,” he said, slightly diverted by the thought that he would have said so anyway, regardless of the truth of the matter. “I would be honoured to join you, if I may.”

The Miss Bennets graciously accepted, and all three wandered off, talking companionably of everything and nothing. They spent a pleasant half-hour in the library, although Darcy knew full well that if he had any interest for the reading matter available there, he should return another day, for all he could do now was glance at her over the book he was holding as a guise, incredulous of his good fortune and grateful for the inspiration that had guided his steps thither.

Finally, Miss Bennet and Miss Catherine declared themselves ready to return to Portman Square, and all three made their way out. They wandered along the shaded alleyways, discussing the plays staged in town, and Elizabeth expressed her regret that they happened to visit at a time when the King’s Theatre was closed.

“Oh, Mozart’s, beyond any comparison,” Elizabeth decidedly said, and Darcy smiled despite himself, charmed by her unconcealed enthusiasm, as by everything about her.

“My sister’s preference lies with the German composers, particularly Handel and at one time Bach, but Mozart has also become a recent favourite,” he said casually. The inclination towards Mozart had in effect heralded the beginning of Georgiana’s recovery of spirits after Ramsgate, but he did not disclose that.

“There can be no equal to Handel’s style, not in our time, to be sure. His music is so… majestic, so uplifting! It puts me in mind of the noblest sentiments known to man. Mozart’s is delectable in an altogether different fashion. ‘Tis lively, and mischievous sometimes, but utterly delightful. It can be too light, bright and sparkling for some, I do not doubt. But then there is no accounting for tastes, is there? ”

He cast a glance in her direction and then forced himself to look away so as not to stare, wishing he had the liberty of letting her know she was the liveliest, loveliest, most delectably mischievous and utterly delightful lady of his acquaintance, and the handsomest as well – or, failing that, at least wishing he had the inspiration and intrepidity to offer her his arm when they set out on their walk. It would be odd to do so now… would it not?

Nevertheless, the day had offered the lengthiest and least strained conversation they had ever shared in the entire course of their acquaintance, and the enjoyment had not been curtailed by any officious or embarrassing interference. On that note, Miss Catherine was a most agreeable surprise. She was reserved, civil and occasionally showed herself quite well informed. In short, she was nothing like he remembered and indeed expected her to be.

“My plans are not yet fixed,” was all Darcy could say. “I assume I shall be here for a while, but I might spend some time at Pemberley. And you, Miss Bennet? How soon will you return to Devonshire?”

Elizabeth made no answer, and Darcy turned towards her with a slightly questioning look, only to find that her attention was drawn somewhere ahead. Darcy’s gaze followed the direction of hers, and eventually came to rest on the gentleman advancing at a leisurely pace towards them.

“I should imagine it will be sometime in September,” she airily replied, and turned with a welcoming smile towards the newcomer, who had by then reached them. “Good afternoon, Colonel. What a pleasant surprise. Mr Darcy, may I introduce Colonel Brandon, one of our Devonshire neighbours, and a dear friend. Colonel, this is Mr Darcy of Derbyshire.”

A neighbour and a dear friend. A dear friend. What did that signify, a dear friend? Her words reverberated in his mind, spinning with dizzying velocity. It might have signified anything or nothing, but it was not the words that inflicted the pain. It was her obvious pleasure in the encounter that did, and her welcoming smile for the other man. And her loss of interest in his conversation. And the fact that she had not qualified their own acquaintance in any way.

Brandon was ‘a dear friend’ .

The pain was vicious. Darcy could not speak, but bowed perfunctorily to the other man, then straightened to take a better look at him. He appeared very gentlemanly, to be sure, and had a fine countenance, one must grudgingly concede. Fifteen years or so older than Elizabeth, was he? To his distress, Darcy had to own that he did not look it, particularly at that moment, as Brandon turned towards her with a few words of greeting.

Darcy bit his lip and looked away. He would have thought Fitzwilliam was a better judge of character. Reserved, and a very private man, that was how he had described Brandon in the past. Darcy fought to suppress a snort. For a very private man, Brandon was doing a remarkably fine job of showing he was happy about the encounter.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you here, Colonel?” Darcy heard Elizabeth ask, and forced himself to pay heed to the conversation.

“I called in Portman Square, only to be told that the young ladies had gone out with the intention of taking a walk in this park and visiting the Queen’s Library. But I am very surprised that you would choose to leave the library before your friends,” the other man replied in a quiet voice, which Darcy could not but own that it was warm and pleasant, and the smile directed at Elizabeth made him clench his hands behind his back. Likewise, the understanding smile Brandon received in return.

“I am afraid you were sadly misled, Colonel. We left the house together, but the Miss Dashwoods went to call in Harley Street.”

“I see,” was the Colonel’s sole reply, and for a few moments nothing else was said as they fell into step together – Brandon too, at Elizabeth’s silent invitation .

To Darcy’s even greater vexation, Miss Catherine, who had begun by walking at Elizabeth’s right, now ceded her place to the Colonel and chose to move to Darcy’s left. Thus, when they quitted the park and discovered that the pavement on Piccadilly was not wide enough for four, he found himself necessarily lagging behind with Miss Catherine, while Brandon remained beside Elizabeth. And offered his arm. She took it.

Darcy seethed. He should have offered Elizabeth his arm when he had the chance, he told himself petulantly, only to wince in pain at his own childishness. It would not have mattered. Elizabeth might have still chosen Brandon’s support over his. Whether or not he had offered his arm half an hour earlier was inconsequential. Not offering his hand half a year ago was anything but.

He could not take his eyes off them, despite all the written and unwritten laws of conduct in polite society. Nor could he refrain from trying to listen to their conversation. Given the few steps’ distance and the commotion of the great boulevard, he could hear little and understand less. But he could not miss the air of intimacy and easy camaraderie between them. Their friendly, communing smiles, and the affectionate way in which Elizabeth patted his arm at one point in the conversation spoke more clearly than a thousand words. She was very comfortable in Brandon’s presence. Much more so than she had ever been in his.

Was that a good sign? One is hardly ever that comfortable when one is in love – was that not so?

Darcy sighed, as he dismissed all such notions as wishful thinking. If affection was declared and reciprocated, there would be comfort. And bliss. For another.

“Would you care to stay for dinner, Colonel?” Darcy heard Elizabeth ask, then she added, “I imagine our party will be complete before too long.”

The Colonel gladly accepted the invitation, and Darcy had the pain and pleasure of suddenly finding himself the object of Elizabeth’s attention as she turned towards him.

“I hope you can join us as well, Mr Darcy,” she tentatively said, perturbed by the thought that Mrs Jennings, Mrs Bennet and Lydia were an acquired taste. As far as her mother and sister were concerned, he had never acquired it, if memory served, and thus they would surely grate on his sensibilities .

She wished she could have introduced him to her uncle and aunt Gardiner instead. She would have liked him to know that Jane, and more recently Kitty, were not her only relations for whom she need not blush. Still, it could not be helped. Elinor, Marianne and the Colonel would have to suffice in terms of sensible and decorous company.

Elizabeth need not have fretted about his reacquaintance with Lydia and Mrs Bennet. It did not come to pass. Mr Darcy sensed her reservations, and completely misconstrued them. With his earlier joy turned into bitterness at the thought that the warm invitation was Brandon’s, and his merely the forced civility, he politely but coldly declined the pleasure of dining in Portman Square.

Had he chosen to attend, he would have met the Miss Dashwoods and come to the right understanding as to the Colonel’s affections, for in Marianne’s company the gentleman’s manner would have left little room for doubt – and moreover, Mrs Jennings’ wit would have done the trick.

He did not attend. Instead, Darcy returned to Berkeley Square more dejected than ever, persuaded that the engagement Fitzwilliam had spoken of was, if not yet a reality, then a very certain possibility, and that he might as well return to Pemberley. Yet he knew he would not. Not until the dice had fallen, and all hope was lost.

Darcy could not bring himself to call in Portman Square until several days later – only to be told that the lady of the house would be delighted to receive him, but Mrs Bennet and her daughters were no longer in residence.

A short time with his hostess was enough for Darcy to learn, to his bitter disappointment, that they had left for Netherfield just two days previously.

Unlike her unexpected visitor, Mrs Jennings was positively thrilled. She could barely wait to quiz and tease her young friends about the distinguished young gentleman who came to call upon them, and seemed so forlorn to hear they were gone. It was a vast pity she could not tell which one he came to see, but after some deliberation, Mrs Jennings decided it was not such a bad thing after all. She could of course tease each and every one of them.