Page 15 of Epiphany (A Little Bit More Darcy and Elizabeth #2)

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A fter a successful dinner on Saturday evening, it had been generally expected that Mr Bingley would become a regular visitor at Longbourn. Regrettably, his friend’s return put paid to any calls on Monday, and the Gardiners’ departure and dinner at Purvis Lodge occupied the Bennets on Tuesday. By Wednesday morning, Mrs Bennet had reached the limit of her patience. All five of her daughters were bustled out of the house and ordered to walk to Meryton to deliver a basket to their aunt and uncle Philips.

“And keep alert, Jane!” she cried after them from the front door. “Since you cannot seem to see Mr Bingley at home, you had better attempt to see him elsewhere.”

Her direction was not to be fulfilled. It began to snow shortly after they set out, and Mary immediately petitioned to be allowed to return to the house. Jane, less fearful than her younger sister of Mrs Bennet’s reproach but equally averse to getting cold, accompanied her. Lydia and Kitty would not be put off the chance of seeing some officers by anything so paltry as a bit of precipitation. Elizabeth was left to carry the basket as the pair of them walked ahead. She did not mind, for she always enjoyed snow. It altered everything, giving something new to discover in even the most familiar landscapes. She relished the beauty of it, despite how the cold burned her toes.

“There they are!” Lydia exclaimed excitedly, almost as soon as they turned into the bottom of the High Street. “Denny! Carter!”

Elizabeth did not reprimand her for the indelicate shriek, for there was something about snow that made one feel singularly festive, and she had not the heart to play the stern governess. Besides, the only people there to witness it were the several officers in the square, all of whom were engaged in a raucous snowball fight. She hardly thought they would care.

She followed her sisters to the water pump, behind which Captain Carter was taking refuge. “You look as though you are on the losing side, sir.”

“’Tis not so much a matter of sides as every man to himself,” he replied.

“Or girl!” Lydia said excitedly, already squatting to scoop up a handful of ammunition. She stood up to throw it but ducked down again directly as someone else’s shot sailed over her head. She whooped with laughter and was soon dashing about the square with Kitty, hurling snow rather ineffectively at the swarm of red coats.

Elizabeth considered stopping them but decided it looked like too much fun to abstain and instead looked around for somewhere to perch her basket so she could join in. As she did, the door of the George and Crown opened, and Mr Darcy stepped out. Their eyes met, but there was no time for anything more, for at that moment, a snowball hit her on the back of the neck, and ice was wedged beneath her collar to tumble down her back. She dropped her basket and cried out in shock.

Behind her, Lydia and Kitty both fell into peals of laughter, and shouts of, “Bad form, Carter!” rang around the square, but the fight otherwise raged on, indifferent to her plight. Elizabeth bent, laughing, to gather up a retaliatory shot.

A movement by the inn door distracted her as she stood to discharge it, but she was mid-twist and did not see what it was. Captain Carter let out a loud grunt and staggered two steps backwards from the impact of the snowball that hit him hard on the side of his head, knocking his hat to the ground.

“Gads, my ear!” he bellowed. “Who threw that?”

Elizabeth regarded her own snowball, still in her hand. Then, as shouts went up accusing various officers, she peered over her shoulder at Mr Darcy. He looked as though he had never thrown a snowball in his life, standing tall and proper on the pavement, regarding the melee with a stern glower. And brushing something off his right glove.

Smiling to herself in wonder, Elizabeth knelt to gather up the scattered contents of the basket. She almost toppled over in amazement when Mr Darcy crouched next to her and took over the task. She stood up, flicking snow off her skirts, and thanked him when he handed her the refilled basket.

“That was a remarkable shot, Mr Darcy.”

“Not really. I was not aiming for his ear.”

She grinned, always appreciative to discover playfulness in people, and for some reason, particularly delighted to find a streak of it in Mr Darcy.

“What brings you to Meryton today?” She blushed a little, which was silly, for he could not have known that she had wished to ask whether his cousin was with him.

“I left my travel inkwell here when I stayed. My man would have collected it, but I was riding this way anyway. Bingley and I planned to call at Longbourn. In fact, he has gone ahead. I am to meet him there.”

“Oh, Jane will be pleased. Could Mr Bingley not have waited for you, though?”

“It was too much of a delay for him, I am afraid.”

Elizabeth was grateful to him for admitting as much. To her mind, teasing his friend for his impatience to see Jane was as good as giving his approval of the match. She tried not to consider what his coming here first said about his own inclination to visit Longbourn.

“May I walk you and your sisters home?” he enquired.

“Certainly, if you do not mind waiting while I take this basket to my aunt.”

“Of course,” he replied and indicated for her to lead the way.

Though it felt a little traitorous, Elizabeth wished she could avoid a meeting between Mr Darcy and Mrs Philips. Her aunt was bound to do or say something—or many things—that would excite his sense of rank, and though she could not like his pride, this would be one of the last times she would be in company with him, and she felt again her new reluctance that he should recall her or her relations unkindly.

“You must not feel obliged to accompany me. ’Tis only on Gunners Street. I shall run there now and be back in a few minutes.”

He only smiled and started walking. Unable to think of a reasonable excuse to put him off, Elizabeth called for Lydia and Kitty to come and then fell in beside him.

“My sister tells me she had a very pleasant evening on Saturday,” he said.

“I am glad to hear it. Miss Darcy is a little shy, if I am not mistaken?” He nodded, thus she continued, “I was hopeful that, by the end of the evening, we had put her at ease.”

“If the evening was as unrestrained as Christmas Day, I have no doubt you had.” He gave her a half smile and added, “Your relations are all so comfortable with each other, it is difficult for guests to remain on ceremony.”

“You mean you enjoyed my mother’s nerves, my father’s facetiousness, and my sisters’ squabbling?”

“Would it surprise you if I said I did?”

“Yes!” she replied with an incredulous laugh.

He inclined his head. “That is fair. It surprised me, too.”

They arrived, and Mr Philips answered the door, taking his basket of Christmas treats eagerly and waving away Elizabeth’s apologies for those that had melting snow on their wrappings. Mrs Philips appeared behind him, Christmas wishes on her lips that dried up when she espied Elizabeth’s companion.

“Good heavens. Look who is tolerating Lizzy today!” She laughed falsely and exaggeratedly to emphasise how humorous she found herself.

The ground did not swallow Elizabeth, despite the intensity with which she desired it. “We must be getting back,” she said feebly and turned to go.

“Do not be daft,” her aunt replied. “Come in out of the snow, and have some tea. Come.”

Elizabeth looked back to refuse politely, only to see Mr Darcy remove his hat and step inside the house. “But, Jane and Mr Bingley?—”

“They do not need either of us,” Mr Darcy replied with impossible equanimity. “Let us leave them to it.” With a startlingly winsome smile, he disappeared into the hall.

“Did I tell you, girls,” said Mrs Philips as she poured the tea, “that your uncle’s great-aunt Cicely was at his sister’s on Christmas Day? And all these years we thought her dead! Mind you, she looked it—all bones and liver spots and her every other word four shades of nonsense. Though that might have been on account of her new teeth, which I should not be surprised to discover belonged to a horse before they were hers—ten times too big for her mouth, and Lord knows her mouth is ten times bigger than most people’s…”

“Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth glanced at Mr Darcy, who had leant close to address her quietly, but she could not long withstand his gaze. If her aunt continued in this manner, she felt she might wither so thoroughly with mortification that she would blink out of existence entirely. If only Mr Darcy had the courtesy to wait until she did, they would not be required to speak at all.

He was not that courteous, however. Indeed, he was positively persistent. “I beg you would forgive me for my ill-mannered words the first night we met.”

She winced. “Pray, pay no heed to what my aunt says. Any of it.”

Mrs Philips obligingly gave him something to ignore by making a remark about fat old ladies that made Lydia snort with laughter. Elizabeth closed her eyes.

“Did I hear you say Mr Bingley was at Longbourn, Lizzy?” asked her aunt.

“Yes, so I understand.”

Mrs Philips nodded sagely. “That will cheer your mother.”

“Do you think he will propose to Jane soon?”

“Kitty!” Elizabeth hissed, but it was no good. Her aunt had taken up the baton.

“I should consider him a scoundrel if he did not. To abandon her twice would be criminal!”

It was like watching a carriage accident that one could do nothing to prevent. Over the top of another impolitic remark from Lydia, Elizabeth said loudly, “Mr Darcy, did you enjoy your time in Kent?”

“Not especially. My aunt is newly bereaved and was not on her best form.”

Mortification compounded mortification! “Oh, I am sorry to hear that.”

He began to reply, but Mr Philips talked directly over him to enquire whether he and Mr Bingley would be at Colonel Forster’s dinner that evening.

“We shall, sir,” he replied with an impatient edge to his voice.

“Do you think Wickham will be there?” asked Kitty. “He was not in the square just now. Does anyone know when he means to come back?”

From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth observed Mr Darcy shift in his seat, and a surreptitious glance showed him with a heightened complexion. “He is not coming back,” she said. “He has left the regiment.”

“Never mind, Kitty,” said Mrs Philips. “There is always Lieutenant Roberts.”

Kitty and Lydia took this as a cue to regale their company with an account of every one of that young officer’s virtues. Elizabeth sipped her tea, staring into her cup and wondering whether the leaves held any secrets as to how she might escape her present torment. If they did, she could not read them, thus she had not found a way out when Mr Darcy leant close to talk quietly to her a second time.

“I hope you will not think me too tiresome if I restate the warning I gave you about Mr Wickham during our dance at Netherfield. Should your paths ever cross again, it would be better if you and your sisters were not ignorant of the danger he presents.”

Elizabeth had not understood that it was a warning at the time. She had been too blinded by prejudice to judge the matter properly. The thought made her grin, for she did enjoy a good bit of irony.

“It is not tiresome at all, and I thank you for your concern, but it is unnecessary. As you predicted, Mr Wickham has not managed to keep many of the friends he made here. Kitty is yet to be persuaded of his evils, but that will not take long, for she emulates Lydia in all things, and Lydia has quite forgotten him.” Before she could think on it too long and decide against saying it, she added, “I was not so easily warned before. I owe you an apology for the way I harangued you about it at the time.” The look this earnt her made her exceedingly pleased she had said it.

“No apology is necessary,” he assured her. “As haranguings go, yours was one of the more pleasurable I have received of late.”

“Do you mean that none of those other people who have dared to scold you danced an entire set with you while they did it? Nobody commits to anything properly these days, do they?”

He agreed they did not, and Elizabeth fancied he was amused despite his want of a smile, for there was something in his eyes that spoke of pleasure.

“I am in earnest about that other matter, too. I hope you can forgive me for what I said at the assembly. My behaviour that evening was abhorrent.”

She dipped her head, feeling a flurry of anticipation for the chance to admit something she had never thought would come to light since he was soon to be married.

“Do not concern yourself too greatly. I shall not deny it was ill done, but that is not the only thing I have overheard you say about me.” Hearing him suck in his breath, she raised her eyes to his, smiling encouragingly. “I had not left Lucas Lodge on Christmas Eve when you defended me to your cousin. I had only left the room because I did not wish to walk home with Mr Wickham.” And then, because his continued gravity made her wonder if he had forgotten what he said in her defence, she added, “A commendation of one’s character is a far greater compliment than praise of one’s beauty. Even the best looks will fade, whereas good sense and disposition must last forever—or at least until one is so old that every other word is ‘four shades of nonsense’.”

They were interrupted again by Mrs Philips, who had several more pieces of imperative information to impart, including the full details of Miss King’s new inheritance, hitherto kept private from the world for no good reason that she could see, and the receipt for a poultice for piles that she asked to be passed on to Mrs Bennet. Eventually, Elizabeth’s family ran out of ways to embarrass her—or perhaps decided they ought to save some for her next visit—and it was agreed by all that they ought to go before the snow became too heavy.

Mr Darcy thanked Mr and Mrs Philips for their hospitality with a degree of civility that astounded Elizabeth. Her aunt and uncle were dear, well-meaning people, but refined they were not, and she doubted Mr Darcy had ever experienced a call quite like it. His kindness in not making them feel it meant a great deal to her and showed a generosity of which she had not suspected him capable a few weeks ago.

“Will you go directly to Netherfield?” she asked him once her aunt’s front door was closed. “I doubt Mr Bingley will still be at Longbourn.”

“Yes, I ought to. Colonel Forster likes to dine early. I must not make Bingley late in his first week back in the neighbourhood.” He continued to look at her and made no move to begin walking. Snowflakes swirled between them, some settling on the brim of his hat, the collar of his coat, his lips. Elizabeth was almost surprised when he continued speaking.

“I would have you know that every word you heard me say in your favour at Lucas Lodge was true.”

She smiled with genuine gratitude. It was a compliment she would treasure long after he was gone.

“Make haste, Lizzy, ’tis freezing!” Lydia complained.

There was no reason at all why Elizabeth should not do as her sister urged. Her feet simply did not move. And Mr Darcy’s gaze simply would not relinquish her.

“And every word you heard me say at the assembly was rot. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

She gave a little gasp that did no good, for it rendered her more breathless, not less. Since they were staring at each other, she took advantage of the opportunity to look at him closely—at his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his hair, his expression. It all felt so perfectly familiar, as though he were meant to be there, regarding her in his peculiarly intense way.

But there was something more than familiarity. She knew not when it had begun, but in that moment, Elizabeth understood her affection. It arose like a harmony, springing unexpectedly out of a melody that had been playing for so long it had gone unnoticed, and suddenly the thrum of life was grown richer for it. It flooded her with warmth, made her light with joy, and squeezed her heart with sorrow. What ill luck to fall in love with a man who was engaged to someone else.

“You are kind to say so,” she whispered. “I shall remember it.”

He might have frowned, but she could not tell, for they were both distracted by Lydia, now joined by Kitty, repeating her plea to leave.

“I had better go,” she said, rolling her eyes and giving him a rueful smile.

Mr Darcy bowed but did not move, and when Elizabeth glanced back at him before she and her sisters went around the corner, there was no mistaking his frown. She was sorry for it, but it could hardly be helped. She could not have said more without bursting into tears.