Page 13

Tuesday, December 3, 1811

Longbourn

Mary

Mary stole a glance at her mother. So, it seemed all that was required to render Mrs. Bennet speechless was to drop a Countess in her drawing room.

“Welcome to Longbourn, my Lady,”

said Jane in her customary gentle manner, after Mr. Bingley had made the introduction.

“Thank you, Miss Bennet,”

replied the Countess.

“Would you be so good as to present your sisters?”

The remaining introductions proceeded in their proper order. At length, Mrs. Bennet stepped forward and took her Ladyship’s hand, though no words could she muster.

Once seated, Lady Matlock—as expected—chose a place near Lizzy, with whom she soon engaged in animated conversation. Mary’s attention, however, drifted to the quiet young lady who accompanied her ladyship.

Miss Darcy was a remarkably handsome girl—tall for her age, with features that bespoke both gentleness and high breeding. She bore herself with modest grace, and, if Mary judged rightly, possessed a native shyness which, though tempered by excellent manners, was not entirely concealed.

Conversation proceeded with polite ease. In time, Jane excused herself to summon their father, who shortly entered and was presented to the Countess with proper formality. Mary noted, with quiet admiration, that Lady Matlock made a point of addressing each member of the family in turn—including their mother, who was much fluttered by the honour of such a visitor—and did so with a manner entirely devoid of condescension.

To Mary’s considerable relief, neither Lydia nor Kitty said anything inappropriate. Indeed, the visit, thus far, had passed with remarkably little embarrassment—an unusual and welcome occurrence for the Bennet household.

At length, Mrs. Bennet—her voice at last restored—proposed a turn in the garden, should any among them be so inclined.

Now, Longbourn's garden, though of modest dimensions—particularly when contrasted with the grounds of Purvis Lodge or even Lucas Lodge—was a source of considerable personal pride to its mistress. To the casual observer, it offered little more than a few lingering roses and a gravelled path that wound its way round a diminutive lawn. Yet to Mrs. Bennet, it was more than a mere garden; it was an ally—perhaps her most reliable—in her not so quiet campaign of matrimonial designs.

Mrs Bennet cared little whether the couples thus encouraged adhered to the paths provided. The garden had fulfilled its purpose the instant her preferred pairings crossed the threshold. It offered the illusion of privacy, the suggestion of tender discourse, and—most valuably—enabled her to observe, with keen interest, who walked with whom, and for what duration.

Mary expected that Mr. Bingley would accompany Jane, and that Mr. Darcy might walk with Lizzy—though likely with some circumspection until they were beyond observation. As for the Colonel, she supposed Lydia and Kitty would be quick to engage his notice.

Yet, to general astonishment—and to their mother’s particular dismay—both Lydia and Kitty declined the walk.

Mary, for her part, scarcely knew what she wished: a part of her desired that Colonel Fitzwilliam might approach; another shrank from the very notion. Yet it was of no consequence, for the Colonel remained in the drawing room, conversing with her father and Miss Darcy in a manner entirely at ease.

Mary could not account for the change in his manner. Only the day before, he had seemed eager to speak with her—to begin an acquaintance—and now, he appeared entirely to shun her.

And so they remained in the parlour, awaiting the return of the strolling couples.

Elizabeth

“Tell me about Colonel Fitzwilliam,”

said Elizabeth as they passed the garden gate.

Mr. Darcy looked at her with some surprise.

“Richard? What would you wish to know?”

“I cannot say precisely,”

she replied.

“Only that I am curious to know what sort of gentleman he is.”

He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Richard is the second son of my uncle. His elder brother, the Viscount, manages the estate and is heir to the title. Richard, four years his junior, and more like me in temper than his brother, was always my closest companion. He was a frequent visitor at Pemberley—every summer, in fact—and for many years, the three of us—he, Wickham, and I—were nearly inseparable.”

There was a faint, almost imperceptible change in his voice at the mention of Mr. Wickham, which Elizabeth did not miss.

“Richard is of a warm disposition, and far more at ease in company than I. Georgiana adores him. He has a natural cheerfulness that soothes her. I daresay he has done her more service than all my efforts as her guardian.”

Mr. Darcy then fixed his gaze upon her.

“I confess, Miss Elizabeth, I am at a loss to understand the cause of your inquiry. But if it is Richard’s character you wish to know, allow me to speak plainly. He is a man of integrity, with a generous spirit and loyalty I have never questioned. I would entrust him with my utmost concerns—and indeed, I always have. My father thought highly of him too—so much so, he named him joint guardian of Georgiana. You may rely on his honour as firmly as I do.”

Elizabeth walked in silence beside him, her countenance thoughtful.

Mary’s words from the previous day lingered in her mind, causing unease—suggesting that Colonel Fitzwilliam, for all his charm and affability, might prove one of those gentlemen inclined to toy with a young lady’s affections. Yet all she had observed of him so far was wholly at odds with such a notion.

Herein lay her difficulty: her confidence in her own judgement was no longer what it had been. She had once fancied herself an excellent judge of character, but recent events had shown her grievously in error—both in her suspicion of Mr. Darcy and her misplaced trust in Mr. Wickham.

After walking a few steps in silence, Mr. Darcy spoke at last, his voice low and gentle.

“Miss Elizabeth, will you not confide in me the cause of your unease?”

She turned to him, surprised anew by his thoughtful care. How had she come to deem him a man devoid of feeling?

“Mr. Darcy,”

she began.

“on the day your cousin arrived in Meryton, he happened upon Mary while walking near Longbourn. There is a pond, a little off the main road—secluded, half-hidden behind a screen of thick foliage. I used to visit there during my walks, though of late, I have taken to the path that leads to Oakham Mount. That morning, it was Mary who had sought the quiet there. Your cousin approached her—perhaps only to ask for direction.”

Here, Elizabeth laughed softly.

“You may well imagine that Mary, without a formal introduction, refused to speak with him—even for so innocent a purpose as offering directions. From what she told me—or rather, what she did not—I believe the encounter was not an agreeable one. That, I fancy, is why she has taken care to avoid the parlour whenever you two have called.”

Mr. Darcy gave her a searching look.

“Miss Elizabeth, forgive the oddity of my question; but might there be an oak tree near this pond you describe?”

Again she laughed.

“Indeed there is, Mr. Darcy. It is most ancient, noble, and magnificent. So now you see who is Mr. Oak and who is Miss Wood Nymph.”

“I do, Miss Elizabeth,”

he replied, with a flicker of amusement in his eye.

“Pray, continue.”

“Yesterday,”

she went on.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam happened upon Mary there again, unannounced. Mary, quite rightly, objected to the impropriety of such an encounter and entreated him to depart. He complied, but only after securing her promise that she would join the family in the parlour upon his next visit to Longbourn. He expressed a desire for friendship, and Mary, though uncertain, consented.”

“Friendship?”

repeated Mr. Darcy.

“Indeed. He was forthright,”

Elizabeth continued.

“He told Mary candidly that, as a second son, he could not afford to marry where he pleased. Mary thought it a kindness, an act of consideration, that he spoke with such frankness.”

She paused, her steps slowing as her thoughts gathered.

“And yet,”

she said at last, in a reflective tone.

“I find myself questioning his purpose in fostering such a friendship, if he truly means never to pursue more. It strikes me as a curious acquaintance to encourage, especially knowing it cannot end as society expects.”

She glanced at Mr. Darcy, and seeing no objection, continued quietly.

“More than that, having gone to such lengths to secure her promise, to request her presence in company, he made no effort to engage her in the parlour today. When we left, he scarcely acknowledged her at all; his indifference seemed deliberate.”

Mr. Darcy sighed, weary and resigned.

“There is something upon your mind, Mr. Darcy,”

she said gently.

“There is indeed,”

he replied after a pause.

“But I confess I know not whether I ought to speak. It is not my story to tell, and perhaps, before long, Richard may choose to explain himself to your sister. Or perhaps he will not. All I can say is this: Richard is, in every sense, a man of honour. Should he find their acquaintance drifting into territory he cannot rightfully enter, he will remove himself. He would never trifle with a lady’s regard.”

Elizabeth regarded him thoughtfully; her unease, though not entirely dispelled, was somewhat assuaged by the sincerity of his words. A glance behind revealed Mr. Bingley and Jane returning to them.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,”

she said warmly.

“You have relieved my mind.”

Noticing his friend’s approach, Mr. Darcy leaned closer and spoke in a low, confidential tone:

“As for Richard’s manner this morning—his silence, his seeming indifference—it owes less to feeling than to circumstance. You see, Miss Elizabeth,”

he added with a subtle smile.

“your mother is not the only lady in England with a fondness for matchmaking.”

Elizabeth turned her head slightly, catching the faintest trace of mischief that played about Mr. Darcy’s features.

“Is that so?”

said she, raising a brow with playful suspicion.

“Then perhaps we must all remain on our guard.”

He cleared his throat with a slight awkwardness that did not escape her notice.

“Ah, well, about that—my aunt is already aware I have been calling upon you. You see, in my letters to Georgiana—written some weeks before the ball—I may have mentioned you with what she called an injudicious frequency. My aunt, being rather more discerning than I had supposed, formed her own conclusions. I found myself compelled to confess.”

Elizabeth laughed despite herself.

“And what, pray, did Lady Matlock make of your confession?”

“She was, I assure you, exceedingly well pleased,”

he said with quiet assurance.

“You have nothing to fear in that respect. She is firmly of the opinion that young ladies ought to be properly courted—and without unseemly interference. Indeed, she took the opportunity to recount, with no small satisfaction, how my uncle pursued her for sixteen months before she consented to marry him.”

He paused, a slight smile touching his lips.

“Though perhaps I ought not to have shared that particular anecdote. I would not wish to give you any new ideas.”

Before Elizabeth could reply, the sound of light footsteps and merry voices approached. Mr. Bingley and Jane drew near, their faces bright with pleasure.

“What ideas, Darcy?”

asked Mr. Bingley, evidently having overheard but a part of their conversation.

“Oh, nothing at all,”

said Elizabeth with studied innocence.

“Only that Mr. Darcy believes ladies take great pleasure in being courted for a year or more. Jane, what say you?”

Jane smiled warmly.

“I think you should, Lizzy. Let Mr. Darcy earn every part of your affection.”

She hesitated, then added, her voice touched with feeling.

“Though I fear I can no longer do so.”

Elizabeth turned sharply to her sister. “Jane?”

Jane’s blush deepened, but her smile was radiant.

“I have just accepted Mr. Bingley’s proposal. We are betrothed.”

For a moment, Elizabeth paused, her expression wavering between surprise and delight. Then she stepped forward and embraced Jane.

“Oh, Jane,”

she said earnestly.

“I am truly glad for you.”

“Thank you, Lizzy,”

Jane replied, her eyes gleaming with joy.

“And now, I hope the same happiness will soon be yours. Perhaps Mr. Darcy’s year-long courtship need not be so strictly observed.”

At this, Mr. Darcy could not restrain a quiet laugh.

“I quite agree, Miss Bennet,”

said he, still smiling.

“And if you would impress that upon your sister, I should be much obliged. But first, allow me to offer my congratulations. Bingley is a fortunate man indeed.”

He turned to his friend and gave him a firm clasp of the hand.

“Congratulations, Bingley,”

he said.

“I am truly happy for you.”

“Thank you, my friend,”

Mr. Bingley replied, his countenance still beaming.

“Though I must confess it may be premature—I have yet to speak with her father.”

“Why wait?”

said Mr. Darcy with a half-smile.

“Go to him at once.”

They walked together toward the house and entered to find the Countess in earnest conversation with Mrs. Bennet. Elizabeth glanced around and found Colonel Fitzwilliam seated between Mary and Miss Darcy.

Netherfield