Page 9 of Done for the Best (Engaged to Mr Darcy #5)
CHAPTER NINE
THE THINGS UNKNOWN
W hile Darcy was across the lane retrieving a book to read to her, Elizabeth rang for some tea and settled herself onto a little sofa. Charlotte herself came in with the tea.
“Where has Mr Darcy got to?” she asked, placing the tray down on the table.
“He has gone to retrieve a book from Rosings. I did not see anything on Mr Collins’s shelves that was not?—”
“Akin to Fordyce’s Sermons ?” Charlotte laughed, her eyes on the things she was setting out on the table. “My husband does favour ponderous reading material. I often think a novel might do him well.”
Elizabeth laughed with her but then said, “I cannot laugh at him too much, Charlotte, for he and you have been so very good to me. ’Tis a strange thing, particularly as I only know him as much as what I have learnt of him here, since my illness.”
“It is certainly to my good fortune that he came to Longbourn when he did.” Charlotte bent over her friend, busily tucking Elizabeth’s shawl around her. “I had quite resolved myself to being the spinster aunt, shuffled about between my brothers’ houses. Fortunate for me that you did not take a liking to him, and that he extended his offer to me instead!”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh!” Charlotte straightened, finished with her ministrations. She tucked one piece of escaped hair behind her ear and admitted, “I forgot that you would have forgotten it. Mr Collins proposed to you before he offered for me. The day after Mr Bingley’s ball, in fact.”
“Mr Bingley’s ball…that was at the end of November? The one where…”
“Where of all the ladies from the neighbourhood, Mr Darcy asked you, and only you, to dance. He danced with his hostess too, of course.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth echoed. “And then what happened?”
“You danced with some of the men in the militia, and?—”
“No, I do not mean that. The day after the ball. My cousin proposed to me ?”
Charlotte’s face had flushed, and she looked decidedly ill at ease. “He did. He felt it a right thing, being that you and your sisters would lose your home on Mr Bennet’s death, to make an offer for one of you, and you were the one he selected.”
“And he did that despite Mr Darcy’s preference?” Elizabeth shook her head, frustrated. “It all seems so odd to me! From what I have heard, it seems that both Jane and I ought to have been engaged last winter.”
“Perhaps you would have been, had they all not left immediately after the ball.” Charlotte bit the corner of her lip, then sat, and sighed heavily. “Mr Bingley’s party returned to town, and Miss Bingley sent a note to Jane informing her that they would not return and hinting at an engagement between Mr Darcy’s sister and Mr Bingley.”
“I see.” Elizabeth considered that. “I daresay Mr Darcy and I must not have been in love then, else he should have remained.”
“I really cannot say when you and Mr Darcy fell in love. Perhaps this meeting in Kent was something of a second chance for you.”
“It seems that is how it went,” Elizabeth owned. “I wonder when exactly I fell in love with him. Was I bereft all winter, longing for his return? Heartbroken?”
Charlotte gave a little laugh, then leant over the table, straightening the teacups and saucers in a useless sort of way. “Jane was, to be sure, but you are made of sturdier stuff, Eliza, you know that. You keep your own counsel in these things.”
Charlotte excused herself, saying she believed she heard Darcy in the hall, and Elizabeth was left to ponder the meaning of it all. Had Darcy perhaps been attached to someone else and thus she and he had carried on in quiet? Or maybe a London lady believed she had a claim on him, and thus had he scampered off after the ball, intending to end things?
There is more to this story that I do not know, and only Darcy can tell me. Time and enough to get an answer to the question of how we fell in love.
Darcy entered the room with the scent of spring behind him. He was strangely hurried and seemed to have something on his mind; Elizabeth thus forbore toask her questions in favour of setting him more at ease.
“ Gulliver’s Travels !” she exclaimed delightedly, gesturing towards the tome in his hand. “I have not read it for such a time but own it has always been a favourite. Like so many great works, it improves on further acquaintance.”
“Indeed it does,” Darcy agreed warmly. “The more basic elements of plot can be readily grasped, even by children, but as one familiarises oneself with it, the more complex elements of theme and satire become evident.”
“Evident—and debatable. The enigmatic Mr Swift has not always been clear in his meaning, which is ever more diverting as it allows us room to discuss.” She smiled. “An ideal choice, sir.”
“You know,” he said tentatively, “you once said to me that you were sure we never read the same things, or if we did, that we surely had different feelings on them.”
“Did I? I should hope we would not have the exact same feelings on things. How dull that would be! I should be far more amused if we could engage ourselves in lively debate on what we read.”
He laughed. “Yes, I imagine you would. In fact, I once accused you of expressing opinions that were not wholly your own to provoke lively discussion.”
“I wish I could say that was not true but alas, it is.” She grinned. “You have my measure, sir. I am very fond of debate and discussion and see no point in all of us just nodding and agreeing with one another.”
“It was one of the things I liked best at university—the chance to not only learn but to critically analyse my own opinions.”
“It is the only way to be sure of something, I daresay. To look at it from every angle, even through another’s lens, so that we may have a rational answer for our beliefs.”
She poured him tea then; she had learnt the way he liked to take it and made it just so. He opened the book and settled himself onto the sofa and began to read.
The story came back to her with ease, much to her relief. Familiarity in anything was prized by now. He read it very well, his voice mellifluous and his pace ideal for the listener. There was something pleasing about his mouth when he spoke, and dignity in his countenance; and with an awkward blush, Elizabeth found herself awash in admiration of him, her former questions quite forgotten in favour of admiring her beau.
I wish he would kiss me. She wondered, often, why he never did. He was, she already knew, a very proper gentleman, but surely engaged people could kiss. Everyone did! And there were opportunities aplenty. Charlotte was a haphazard chaperon at best; the Collinses had only their housekeeper and one maid-of-all-work, and they were both far too busy to worry about the goings-on in the parlour. And her mother? No one could worry less for a daughter’s reputation than Mrs Bennet. In any case, Mrs Bennet had found some like-minded friends in Hunsford village and was enjoying her days very well playing cards and hearing the local gossip.
Darcy read to her for quite some time. When they reached a point at which it seemed natural to stop, they did, but he left his book behind, promising more on the morrow.
“I am eager for it,” she said as he rose to his feet. She rose as well, and he bowed over her hand as he customarily did when leaving. On an impulse, she said, “When was it that you decided to propose to me?”
He seemed to grow very still before enquiring, “When?”
She nodded.
“The very day I actually did it,” he admitted. “It just…came upon me. I knew I loved you and could not live without you and next I knew I was walking the path as fast as my feet could take me, intent on making you mine.”
A sweet answer, and it made her blush with pleasure, her confusion rendering her unable to ask further questions.