Page 6 of All That Glitters

CHAPTER SIX

Mr Darcy had been a regular caller, every day, for the last ten. He had dined at Longbourn for five of them. Mr Bingley had, as predicted, immediately returned to Netherfield and promptly reopened the house, at which point he had moved from The George and joined his friend in the calls. Mrs Bennet waited daily, with increasing impatience, for an announcement of betrothals.

Elizabeth could admit that she waited too.

“It is amazing, is it not? A couple of weeks ago, I hated Mr Darcy, and now I stand at our drawing room window like an eager puppy, looking for any sign of his appearance,” she said drily to her sister.

Jane smiled; she was smiling more often and more widely these days, and it only added to her great beauty.

“I do not think you hated him, Lizzy,” she chided gently, not willing to ascribe any faults to a most beloved sister. “You did not know him well enough to hate him, and had been misinformed of his character.”

“You mean, I listened to ill-natured gossip from a stranger, a relative stranger, and provided him with more of it.” Really, it was amazing how easily Darcy had forgiven her for her culpability. Thankfully, Mr Wickham had utterly disappeared from these parts, and good riddance.

“I think that whatever your feelings of the past, they are vastly different now.”

Elizabeth found her own smile, the one thoughts of her former belief in Mr Wickham’s lies had chased away.

“They are indeed.”

“Do not you find him…somewhat…intimidating?” Jane asked.

“Not at all. I have found that his usual sober expressions seldom reveal anything he is really thinking. Besides, how can anyone be intimidated by a man who would rush into a church, hatless and sopping wet, to try to stop the wedding of the wrong bride? That loss of dignity is not easily forgotten.”

“Oh, Lizzy, surely you do not tease him over that?”

Elizabeth laughed. “You are wrong, dear sister, if you believe that Mr Darcy does not enjoy a bit of teasing.”

Jane’s brows rose, but then she smiled. “What I think is that there is nothing you could say that he does not like.”

It was probably true.

Astonishing, that such a man as he had decided, somehow, to love an impertinent country miss; at first, however, she had only agreed that he could call due to his obvious embarrassment. It was undeniably flattering, to have attracted such attention from him.

Of course, there were those who thought she ought to be embarrassed as well, people like Pamela Harrington, who had snidely remarked, “Really, Eliza, I do not know how I would be able to hold my head up, should a man make such a spectacle of himself before God and the entire neighbourhood, over me .”

“I should not worry too much about the necessity of planning for the occasion,” Elizabeth had replied cheerfully, to the sound of much laughter from the other young ladies. No, she felt no embarrassment whatsoever—ought she to, when a man of great wealth and property—a man whom nearly everyone had believed so far beyond the reach of any local lass that no one had ever seriously considered the possibility—deigned not only to offer for her, but to do it so publicly? Was it an insult, that he had decided nothing else mattered except reaching her in time to make that interest known before it was, as he had believed, everlastingly too late?

But love? That was another thing entirely. Still, with every intelligent, fascinating conversation, she had felt more deeply entranced—he was not conceited, but self-assured. His sense of humour was dry and droll. Long walks together had resulted long talks in favourite paths and places—the hermitage at Longbourn, and the rose garden at Netherfield, amongst others. They were, ostensibly, always supposed to be under the watchful eyes of Bingley and Jane—most conveniently, the worst chaperons in the history of chaperonage.

Mr Bingley’s carriage pulled up the drive, and she felt her heart beat harder as his footman pulled down the step and opened the door.

To her thorough disappointment, only Bingley emerged.

“But where is Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth asked him, once he had been shown in.

To her surprise, Jane’s smile was distinctly conspiratorial.

“Ah, as to that,” Mr Bingley said, bowing most dramatically. “I have been tasked with delivering you this.” With a flourish, he removed an envelope from an inner coat pocket and handed it over to her.

Her name was written in forthright handwriting across the front of it—Mr Darcy’s writing. Curiously, she unfolded the missive.

A walk ended, a fresh beginning commenced…here.

She was certainly confused. Slowly, an incredible idea began to form. She looked up from the letter-paper. “Is this…is this a Treasure Hunt?” she asked, referring to the popular party game of searching out clues.

Jane smiled. “Perhaps something like!”

Mr Bingley bowed. “My carriage is at your disposal, should your searches lead you any great distance.” He and Jane exchanged sly grins.

A walk ended, a fresh beginning commenced…here. After the scene at the church, she had agreed that Mr Darcy might call; to her surprise, the very next day he had arrived at Longbourn. The first visit was somewhat awkward, but it had not remained so. The next day he arrived with Mr Bingley in tow. They had gone for a walk together, the four of them, which had quickly diverged paths. She and Darcy had stayed in Longbourn’s gardens and then she had shown him the hermitage. The hermitage! Where they had talked for an hour that passed in mere seconds.

Hurriedly she abandoned Jane and Mr Bingley, to race for her coat and an umbrella.