Page 10 of Blessed Interference (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

Formal Gardens

Rosings

An Hour Later

Fitzwilliam Darcy was surrounded by carefully tended flower beds, many blazing with reds and oranges and yellows, with a charming fountain splashing merrily some twenty feet away. He was, however, entirely unaware of any of the beauty or charm encircling as he gazed in horror at his cousin.

“I did,” he said in distress. “I did say that about Miss Bennet. I had forgotten completely! I had just arrived at Netherfield that day, and Bingley dragged me to a backwards assembly at Meryton, and I was tired, and in such a dreadful mood. He harassed me to dance, and with Miss Bennet, no less, and oh, I had no idea that my rude remarks were overheard, Richard! What am I to do?”

This was an absurdly pathetic pronouncement for the proud, tall master of Pemberley, but he was a man in love, who had succeeded in insulting his beloved on the day they had met.

And then had forgotten entirely about it!

“It is no surprise that Miss Bennet does not think all that well of you,” Richard remarked and then, more cheerily, added, “But at least she no longer believes Wickham, who doubtless told her a carefully fabricated story about the Kympton living.”

Darcy was obviously deep in the doldrums now, and Richard said, “Darcy, you clearly have a pit to climb out of, but if you truly wish to marry Miss Bennet, it is better to know the truth than to continue on without understanding the situation.”

Darcy drifted a few feet away and leaned over to smell a yellow rose, and when he straightened, his expression had shifted from sorrow to determination.

“You are correct, of course,” he said. “If I wish to wed Miss Bennet, I need to forget all that I thought was true, accept reality, and court her as she deserves.”

“Which means that you must never breathe a word of criticism of her family,” Richard prodded. “You have already caused trouble for Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, and she will not wish to hear rude comments about her relations from your lips.”

Darcy sighed and said, “I do see what you are saying, although perhaps it would help her understand the depth of my adoration if I tell her that I will marry her even though her relations are not worthy … you think not?”

Richard had been shaking his head with increasing fervor throughout his cousin’s speech, and he said, “Absolutely not! Get it through your thick head, Darcy. Miss Bennet will marry you only if she loves and respects you, not as some sort of beggar maid to your King Cophetua.”

Darcy winced. “Do you mind if I retreat to my bedchamber to ponder my next steps? I feel as if I have a great deal to consider.”

“Of course,” Richard said and then added handsomely, “I will even find Lady Catherine and ensure that she is happily engaged while you think.”

“You are a prince among men, Cousin.”

***

On the Paths of Rosings

The Next Morning

Elizabeth had not long been in residence at the Hunsford parsonage, with all the paths and lanes and parkland of Rosings at her disposal, before she had discovered an especially charming route.

Trees sheltered it, dappling the hard-packed dirt below with sun and shade, and hid it from curious eyes.

The open grove that made up the edge of the parkland stood to its other side, and the alert observer could often see foxes and rabbits and squirrels and birds.

It was meticulously tended, as were all the grounds, but she never saw anyone on it aside from the occasional gardener, who would tug his forelock and return to his work.

Thus, it became a haven when Mr. and Mrs. Collins were summoned to Rosings, or worse, when Lady Catherine would come to call at Hunsford, which she was fond of doing on occasion, and without warning.

Elizabeth had come to dread her visits, which seemed to be for the express purpose of finding fault.

Mrs. Collins ought to rearrange her furniture, or update it, the maid had grown lax and lazy, the curtains were outmoded and unfashionable – but should not be too fashionable so as to be unbecoming for a rector’s wife, or some other such nitpick.

Elizabeth had, at first, been amused by the exaggerated autocracy of the lady’s manner, but after it had been turned on her and her needlework, she found herself less in charity with Lady Catherine and made a concerted effort to slip out of the back door whenever the grand barouche with the gold Rosings crest on the door halted in front of the parsonage.

It was a lovely day, the shade deliciously cool and the sun delightfully warm, and Elizabeth was relishing it wholeheartedly as she wandered up and down the lanes.

“Miss Bennet, good morning,” a familiar male voice said, and Elizabeth turned in surprise to discover Mr. Darcy on foot standing underneath a spreading oak tree.

“Mr. Darcy,” she replied still feeling somewhat startled and curtsied. “I hope you are well this morning?”

“I am,” Darcy said conventionally, though his expression was gloomy. Elizabeth had no desire to spend her private time with the silent and often grim Mr. Darcy, so she curtsied again and said, “Good day,” and started to turn to leave.

“May I walk with you, Miss Bennet?” he asked.

Elizabeth suppressed a sigh, called upon her natural courtesy, and nodded. “Of course.”

They wandered for a full minute in silence, and Elizabeth was hopeful that she would be able to enjoy the zephyr and lovely views without any further discussion.

“I must apologize to you, Miss Bennet, for my unkind words at the Meryton assembly last October,” Darcy said, so abruptly that it took Elizabeth a few seconds to understand what he had said.

When she had, she directed a confused look on the gentleman, whose expression was rigid with discomfort.

“Erm, thank you,” she said in surprise and then continued, “Please do not think anything more of it.”

He stopped now under a shady maple tree and turned toward her, and she looked up into his undeniably handsome face.

“I cannot help but think of it, as I am ashamed and horrified at my incivility. The truth is that I was tired and irritable and wished to spend a quiet evening at Netherfield with Bingley, and I spoke thoughtlessly and, yes, cruelly. I promise that for many months, I have considered you one of the most handsome women of my acquaintance.”

Elizabeth could not help but chuckle at this, and she shook her head. “Sir, I do beg you not to prevaricate in the other direction now. I am well satisfied with my looks, but…”

“I am not prevaricating,” Darcy interrupted and then shook his own head. “I apologize for interrupting, Miss Bennet, but the truth is that I think you are incredibly beautiful. Moreover, I love and adore you, and I wish to marry you.”

She stared at him in wonder, her mouth drooping open. What did he just say?

“What?” she finally managed to ask aloud.

“I love you,” Darcy continued, taking a pace forward and then promptly retreating an equal distance. “I know you do not like me, and why should you, when I was so insulting on the very day we met, but I love you with all my heart.”

Elizabeth stared at the gentleman’s handsome face for a moment and then glanced around. Was she awake or in a dream? Surely this could not be happening.

And yet, she could smell the fragrance of lilac bushes some distance away and felt the sun’s bright rays heating her. She was not asleep.

“Are you not engaged to Miss de Bourgh?” she asked, more to allow herself time to think than anything else.

Darcy grimaced and sighed. “I am not and never have been. Lady Catherine decided many years ago that Anne and I ought to marry, but my father was not in favor of it, and my mother, God rest her soul, only mentioned it as a possibility. No, I will not marry my cousin Anne. After falling in love with you, I cannot imagine marrying for pragmatic reasons. It would not be fair to either my cousin or myself.”

Elizabeth swallowed and said, “I … I truly do not know what to say. I had no idea in the world that you admired me. In fact, I thought you stared at me often because there was something wrong with my appearance.”

Darcy moaned aloud and ran a hand down his face. “I can well imagine that, given that I am awkward in company and frequently brusque, and I insulted you when we first met.”

Elizabeth, gazing into her suitor’s face, felt her heart soften at the misery on that countenance. Nonetheless, she could hardly accept, not now.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said gently. “I am greatly honored by your offer of marriage, but I cannot accept, as I do not know you well enough.”

Darcy winced and said, “I am doing this all wrong. I did not … that is, I would accept your hand in marriage at any point, but I do not expect a positive answer now. Or ever. It is your right to do as you wish, Miss Bennet, of course! I was hoping ... that is, I realized that I had to tell you my true feelings, but naturally you do not care for me enough for marriage. I was hoping that perhaps we could enter an unofficial courtship.”

Elizabeth blinked. “A courtship?”

“An unofficial one, or an official one if you prefer. Either would be beyond my wildest dreams.”

She considered this in silence, her mind working rapidly. What did she know about Fitzwilliam Darcy? He was rich, and intelligent, and very handsome. He was a good brother to a much younger sister. He was a good friend to Mr. Bingley. He apparently owned an enormous library at his estate!

“Very well,” she said, coming to a conclusion. “I would be pleased to enter an unofficial courtship, Mr. Darcy.”

The resulting smile lit up the gentleman’s face like the sun, and Elizabeth could not help but to smile back, though shyly.

“Miss Bennet, thank you,” he said, stepping closer and taking her gloved hands in his own. “I cannot tell you how happy you have made me.”