Page 11 of It Taught Me to Hope

T he hill to which Elizabeth led Mr. Darcy was not far distant, though they met perhaps a mile away from its base. The trails through which they rode were not wide tracks but had seen enough use to keep the encroaching woods and fields at bay, a hard path the tenants used to transport goods; Elizabeth had wandered these paths since she had been a girl, and now often rode them on her trusty mare. As they wound through bends, up small hills, and into the following valleys, the fields around them gave way to woods, the branches about the path reaching out to snag the cloaks, hoods, bonnets, and jackets of unwary travelers. Elizabeth, by now a deft horsewoman, avoided them in the narrower spots, noting how Mr. Darcy followed her with the flair of long familiarity with the hazards of such places. In time, the woods closed about them and the path reached the base of the hill, turning to the left and continuing around its circumference.

When they reached that curve, Elizabeth dismounted and slid to the ground below, tying her mount in loose knots to a nearby branch, and when she saw that Mr. Darcy had done the same, led him up the slope. The hill was not high, the angle they climbed gentle and not taxing, and while rock formations protruded from the ground in various locations, grassy loams and loose dirt covered the majority, leaving it a pleasant climb to the summit.

“Did you not come here when you were at Netherfield?” asked Elizabeth as they trudged up the slope. “This hill abuts Netherfield’s land as well as Longbourn’s, and perhaps two or three other estates to the north.”

“If you recall,” said the gentleman, “I knew little of the geography of the area and confined my riding closer to Netherfield.”

Elizabeth nodded. “In truth, I have not come here of late, for there is always something to be done on the estate, and I ride more often than I walk. When I was still a girl and a young woman in my father’s home, I walked here as often as the occasion allowed. It is one of my favorite places. It is two miles distance from Longbourn so I could not walk here as often as I wished, but I came when I could.”

“As I recall, three miles to Netherfield was no object, so I cannot imagine four miles defeated you often.”

“No, it did not,” said Elizabeth, amused at his reference to her coming to Netherfield Park when Jane was ill. “That did not mean I was always at liberty to walk so far. Now, I ride more than I walk.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Riding is not as beneficial an exercise as walking, but it has its advantages. I can go much further than when I am walking and visit more distant locations, which allows me to see more of the nature I love. While I still walk often, I confine my walks to the environs about the house.”

“That is sensible. Walking is excellent exercise, yet the proprietor of an estate must ride, for walking would consume too much time to be efficient.”

“I imagine it must be a greater consideration at your estate, which I have heard is far greater than Longbourn. Why, no less an authority than Miss Bingley—or Mrs. Powell, I suppose—has spoken of it!”

Mr. Darcy chuckled, but he did not take the bait. “Yes, Miss Bennet, I must ride the estate, for some of the far-flung tenant farms are several miles distant from the house. Betwixt us, Georgiana has always been the more eager walker, though I also walk when I can. For exercise, I indulge in fencing with my cousin and some other sports to keep me active.”

“A gentleman’s games provide much more value to his fitness than a woman’s. Other than walking, there are few activities in which we may indulge which will not risk others calling us unladylike.”

Mr. Darcy gave her a quizzical look. “You must have indulged in other things. Croquet, other lawn games, and even cricket are acceptable for ladies’ participation, though that last might provoke some to raise their eyebrows.”

“I think you know enough of me, Mr. Darcy, to understand that I care little for what others think.”

“Exactly.” The gentleman smiled, having proven his point.

As they approached the top, Elizabeth wondered about this conversation with him. In her memory, she could not dredge up any instance in which they had spoken so easily as this during their previous acquaintance, and even since his coming, their interactions had been marked by hesitation. Perhaps it was the locale or the activity that demanded part of their attention, but Elizabeth had never felt half so comfortable in his company.

“You know,” said Elizabeth, considering what she might say, “had matters taken a more pleasant turn, I might have viewed your estate.”

“Is that so?” asked Mr. Darcy. “I assume you speak of something specific.”

“Yes, I do. My aunt, you see, hales from Derbyshire, having spent many years in the village of Lambton, which I understand you know well.”

“I do, indeed,” said Mr. Darcy, surprised by the connection. “Did she live at an estate nearby, or did she live in the town itself?”

“In the town. Her father was the parson at Lambton, and his name was Cantwell.”

Mr. Darcy nodded in thought. “The name is familiar, but I was not acquainted with him. If this was many years ago, I would have been too young.”

“It was,” confirmed Elizabeth, “for my aunt left Lambton when she was young.”

“That is a strange coincidence. As yet, however, you have not told me why you would have had occasion to see Pemberley.”

“The summer of Lydia’s disappearance, my aunt and uncle were to travel to the lakes, but my uncle’s business would not allow them to go so far. Instead, they were to travel to Derbyshire to visit the scenes of my aunt’s youth. When Lydia disappeared, those plans dried on the vine, for my uncle stayed in London to assist my father with the search.”

Mr. Darcy considered this. “Then she disappeared soon after her journey to Brighton?”

“It was about a month and a half later,” confirmed Elizabeth. “I do not remember the exact date, but Lydia disappeared in early July, about a week or two before I was supposed to go north with my family.”

By this time, they had reached the summit, though neither could spare any attention from their discussion to look out at the lands below. There was a large oak at the top of the hill with lush grass growing beneath that Elizabeth had always found convenient for sitting and gazing about, or a comfortable location to sit with an excellent book for a half hour. At Elizabeth’s suggestion, they lounged beneath the tree, enjoying the dappled shade provided by the recent growth of greenery against the warmth of the fine spring day. Mr. Darcy, she could see, fixed his thoughts on her to exclude such concerns.

“You were to travel to Lambton soon after?”

“The end of the second week, as I recall.”

“And when were you to be in Lambton?”

“Early in August. That much I remember with more precision, for I know my uncle reserved rooms at the inn at Lambton for our use.”

“I recall that summer,” said Mr. Darcy, returning from his introspection and regarding her. “Georgiana and I spent a month at my uncle’s estate on the very southern edge of Derbyshire. I invited Bingley and his family to visit and to facilitate that, we joined them in Derby, where the Bingleys had gone from another engagement, and we proceeded together to Pemberley.”

Mr. Darcy shook his head and added: “We might have met there if you had been at liberty to keep your engagement.”

“Do you not close your house to visitors when you are in residence?” asked Elizabeth.

“As we had guests, we might have done just that. If Georgiana and I are at Pemberley alone, we still accept tourists, though I limit their access to certain parts of the house. The grounds are often open regardless—as I recall, your love of walking might have drawn you even if you could not view the house.”

Elizabeth offered him a knowing grin. “That is possible if what Miss Bingley said of your home is at all accurate.”

While the gentleman made a face, he did not respond with Miss Bingley’s name on his tongue. “To me, it is the best place in the world. Should you ever see it, you will judge for yourself.”

The notion of seeing Pemberley appealed to Elizabeth, but then the thought of what might have ensued entered her mind and she could not stifle her snort of laughter. Mr. Darcy heard it and turned to her, his expression demanding an explanation.

“It just occurred to me what might have happened had I appeared unexpectedly in Lambton and come to your attention. Miss Bingley would not have been best pleased.”

Understanding her point, Mr. Darcy allowed a rueful shake of his head, though his mirth was much more muted than Elizabeth’s. “As Miss Bingley was nigh insufferable that summer, I cannot say you are incorrect.”

“Do you speak of something in particular?”

A smile reached the gentleman’s features. “Perceptive as always, Miss Bennet. Yes, there was an incident that summer, one that resulted in Miss Bingley learning what I thought of her, and almost ruining my friendship with Bingley.”

“That sounds serious, Mr. Darcy. If it is not mortifying, perhaps you would share it with me?”

The gentleman nodded. “I have no objection. Miss Bingley has always had a... Well, to be blunt, a far greater reliance on her abilities and her desirability than I ever thought was warranted. When we were at Netherfield, you must have noticed her behavior.”

“I did,” confirmed Elizabeth. “It was difficult to miss. Her insistence on parroting what you said, agreeing with your every statement, her excessive praise of Georgiana, and several other things I noted at the time but cannot recall now told me of her ambitions. When I was in Kent, I recall hearing of your supposed arrangement with Miss de Bourgh and reflecting on Miss Bingley’s likely disappointment.”

Mr. Darcy regarded her with no little interest. “You did not suspect me of wishing to unite with my cousin, did you?”

“No, I did not. Lady Catherine was so set on the match that I certainly could not speak of my skepticism, and it was not my place regardless, though there was little indication of any uncommon interest between you. I had seen your indifference for Miss Bingley, and the notion of her being thwarted by your aunt’s ambitions diverted me.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” said the gentleman.

While Elizabeth was certain Mr. Darcy recalled her opinion of him, not a pleasant memory, she did not respond, waiting instead for Mr. Darcy to continue.

“Then you can envision what Miss Bingley supposed when we retired to Pemberley that summer,” said Mr. Darcy, returning to the previous topic.

“It was a compliment to her ?”

“You are not far from the truth. It was not the first time Miss Bingley visited Pemberley, for there was one earlier occasion. Her behavior while there was abominable, for she made it clear in every action, every word that she expected to become the estate’s mistress before long. Bingley, the good fellow that he is, saw it and attempted to curb her behavior, but she listened to nothing he said.”

“Oh, Mr. Darcy, that is, indeed, most offensive.”

“It was.”

The gentleman’s jaw had grown harder the longer he spoke as if remembering such offenses raised his dander again even after so many years. In his eyes Elizabeth saw again the gentleman he had been six years before, the man who avoided speaking to anyone not of his company, who appeared proud and above his company, disdaining those who did not possess his noble pedigree and wealth.

In this, a sudden insight flashed in Elizabeth’s mind, one that had flitted about the edges of her consciousness after their argument in Kent but never struck her as it did at that moment. The event between Georgiana and Wickham preceding his arrival in Hertfordshire had affected his behavior, as had his need to keep himself under good regulation while staying with a woman resolved to provoke his good opinion. Even more, however, Mr. Darcy’s life as a prominent and wealthy man, yet a man who did not enjoy all the attention that came with it, had influenced him to become that aloof gentleman unwilling to engage in small talk. That more than anything else ruled his life and led to the impression he had given.

“Had Miss Bingley confined her attentions to me,” continued Mr. Darcy, “I might have endured them, sent her on her way when the visit ended, and resolved never to tolerate her presence at Pemberley again. As she was determined to provoke a proposal, she tried to stamp her authority on the house my sister presided over as its mistress.”

Wide-eyed, Elizabeth stared at Darcy, unable to fathom the level of pride and oblivious disregard for proper behavior necessary for a woman to assume she could take control over a man’s house without the benefit of marriage. Mr. Darcy noted her shock, for he chuckled.

“It was not quite so bad as you now suspect, Miss Bennet, but it was severe enough to earn my condemnation. Miss Bingley did not attempt to direct the servants, though she made a few comments to my housekeeper, a beloved retainer of many years. Her instructions to Georgiana were of greater concern, for she did not hesitate to take on the self-imposed task of training my sister in all she needed to know.”

“It is little surprise you rebuked her, Mr. Darcy. I wonder that you did not remove her from your home and instruct her never to return.”

“Had it been anyone other than Bingley, I would have done just that. The matter came to my attention, and I watched her. One evening when we were together in Pemberley’s music room after dinner, she made a few comments to Georgiana, and my temper snapped. I told her that not only did she have no business saying anything to my sister or my housekeeper, but I informed her without disguise what I thought of her, the insufficiency of her pretensions, the laughable nature of her designs, and my intention never to offer for her. In this, I was rather... pointed in making my sentiments known, more than I should have been.”

Elizabeth looked at the gentleman with compassion. “Perhaps it is best to control one’s anger, for excessive outbursts are never praiseworthy. Yet I cannot blame you, for the insult was great, and her behavior was abhorrent. Mr. Bingley carries some of the fault, I must suppose, for the gentleman never seemed willing or even capable of contradicting his sister.”

“There you are correct,” agreed Mr. Darcy, “though Bingley has grown much these past years. On that occasion, however, he became offended by my open disparagement of his sister. The Bingley party left the next day, and I remained estranged from Bingley for some time thereafter.”

“You reconciled? I seem to recall you speaking of him.”

“We have,” said Mr. Darcy. “Bingley does not tolerate conflict, and our friendship had been so strong that such an incident, while regrettable in provoking offense, could not prevail over it. Miss Bingley received an offer the following year, and while Bingley has never spoken of it, I suspect she intended to reject it until Bingley and Hurst took her aside and explained a few facts of the situation. Mr. Powell, her husband, owns an estate in Bedfordshire, but it is not large, and he is not prominent. It was her finest prospect, and far better than my expectations for her.

“With his sister married, Bingley approached me, and we rekindled our friendship, though, in true Bingley fashion, he did not raise the subject of the argument or my correction of his sister’s pretense.”

“That is a most diverting tale, Mr. Darcy, though I cannot suppose it was so amusing when it happened. Then Miss Bingley is married, and you are free of her.”

“Blessedly,” was the gentleman’s succinct reply. “As my circle of friends contains a slight overlap with Powell’s, I meet her by chance perhaps once or twice a season. Given her behavior in Hertfordshire, it will surprise you to learn that Miss Bingley has not spoken a word to me since I dressed her down at Pemberley. Her exact thoughts on the matter are unknown to me, but I can endure her disdain with naught but cheer.”

It was so unlike the Mr. Darcy she knew that the laughter burst from Elizabeth’s breast before she could contain it. Mr. Darcy, having delivered the droll observation, joined in her merriment, which lasted for several moments. So far as Elizabeth could recall, she had never laughed in Mr. Darcy’s presence with this much abandon. It felt good, she decided, for it brought out a side of his character that she had never seen or perhaps bothered to discover.

“If Miss Bingley could hear you now, no doubt your words would offend her.”

The shrug of utter disdain spoke to Mr. Darcy’s feelings with great eloquence. “It is my firm belief that those who take offense choose it of their own will and nurture it as they would a small child. I have no interest in her outrage.”

“Her affronts all these years must be greater.”

“Just so.”

With that, they turned to the scene about them, and Elizabeth pointed out the more interesting sights, including the locations of Longbourn, Lucas Lodge, and Netherfield Park. Mr. Darcy asked intelligent questions about the environs, inquiring into several of Longbourn’s enterprises, proving he was adept at estate management. Through all this, however, Elizabeth noted an increasing melancholy, as if unwelcome thoughts had made themselves known. After a time in such talk, Mr. Darcy turned to her, his expression filled with regret.

“The purpose for wishing to speak to you was to offer my apologies, Miss Bennet. When I encountered Wickham on the street in Meryton, I should have spoken of my experiences with him and put the entire community on their guard. That I did not is a stain on my honor, a blemish I shall never wash away, given your sister’s fate at Wickham’s hands.”

A myriad of thoughts passed through Elizabeth’s mind all vying for dominance. Foremost was the sense of her culpability in that matter, seasoned with the refutations of both Charlotte and Mary. It was nothing less than the truth that Mr. Darcy should have acted against Mr. Wickham, for he knew of the danger the man presented to the community, a threat the Bennets of all families had reason to resent. Knowing what she did about Mr. Wickham and his past with Mr. Darcy, however, she could resolve the notion of what Mr. Darcy should have done by understanding why he preferred to wash his hands of any responsibility for Mr. Wickham’s actions. Perhaps it was not commendable, but it was defensible.

“I understand if you hate me for it.”

The comment was so quiet as to be almost inaudible, though it floated to Elizabeth’s ears upon the wings of the breath of wind flowing past the tree at her back. At once, Elizabeth felt the urge to assure this man she did no such thing, which she proceeded to do in her usual jesting fashion.

“Well, this is a fine thing, Mr. Darcy,” said she in a light tone guaranteed to provoke his attention.

“What do you mean?”

“Just this: you claim the fault for Mr. Wickham’s actions and seek to apologize to me fearing my condemnation, while just a few days ago I had the same conversation with Charlotte and Mary on the subject!”

“But that is nonsensical! What can you have to do with Wickham’s misdeeds?”

“I might ask the same of you, Mr. Darcy.”

Mr. Darcy regarded her, uncertainty making him hesitant. “Wickham has been known to me since my earliest childhood. That alone is sufficient, I would think.”

“Yet I knew by your testimony that Mr. Wickham was not a man to be trusted. Should I not have shared something of what I knew?

“Oh, I could say nothing of his attempt to seduce Georgiana, of course,” said Elizabeth before he could respond. “Yet should I not have used what I knew of him to persuade my father against allowing Lydia to go to Brighton?”

The gentleman appeared to have no response to her logic. Elizabeth nodded when he did not speak, pleased with his initial acceptance.

“The truth is that we both bear some of the blame, for we did not take the opportunities to expose him when they presented themselves. In apportioning fault, however, we should never forget that Mr. Wickham is the primary villain in this tale and must bear the greatest share of the responsibility. Even Lydia, as silly a flirt as has ever lived must take her fair share, for she knew better, yet she threw her life away to elope with a man she considered handsome.”

“If you recall,” said Mr. Darcy, “Wickham almost caught my sister in the same snare.”

Elizabeth sighed and allowed his point. “Which does nothing more than prove Mr. Wickham’s skill in using honeyed words to trap the unwary. In all truth, I cannot say he would not have caught me if he had bent his thoughts in that direction. I believed him readily enough when he told me his pretty tales.”

Mr. Darcy appeared as if the notion pained him as much as his sister’s near miss with his most hated enemy. To Elizabeth’s relief, as it was an unpalatable subject, the gentleman said nothing more about George Wickham, Lydia, his sister, or anything of that nature.

“I should return to Breckonridge soon,” said he. “Georgiana has spoken several times of her pleasure in making your acquaintance and the wish to be in your company again. I hope you will consent to continue the acquaintance.”

“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth at once. “I was most happy to make your sister’s acquaintance and would like nothing better than to retain her friendship.”

“Then I shall tell her. She will be eager to establish regular visits.”

By mutual consent, they made their way back down the hill to their mounts and then proceeded south back towards Longbourn. The gentleman saw her to the entrance of her home, then kicked his horse into motion down the road leading to Meryton, and from thence to his leased estate. Elizabeth watched him as he departed, and when he disappeared, she sighed and turned her mount in through the gate, ceding the beast’s care to the waiting stable hand. As Elizabeth entered the house, she reflected she might have asked Mr. Darcy to account for his presence in Hertfordshire, but at the last moment, she had decided against it. Whether it was a lack of courage on her part she could not say, but in some small way, discovering for herself appealed to her.

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U NBEKNOWNST TO ELIZABETH Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy, another witnessed their parting and was not pleased with it. John Mason was not a man who put much stock in love, affection, or other such incomprehensible emotions, for he had been raised to value what society considered important. A pragmatic sort of man, he preferred to go through life alert for opportunities and to seize those openings when they presented themselves. Miss Bennet was one of those vagaries of life that promised greater affluence, for her small estate shared a long border with Netherfield, such that gaining it would increase his consequence by perhaps as much as a third.

That was an avenue he could not ignore. Miss Bennet herself was pretty and vivacious, though he did not care for that trait as he discounted sentimentality and all its trappings. She would amuse him as a wife, he supposed, and her physical features would gratify him in the marriage bed, or so he expected. As the daughter of a minor country gentleman and now mistress of the estate, she would under normal circumstances little interest him. Some might say he was better served to find someone of higher society and substantial dowry, and Mason could own that the notion had some appeal. An estate, however, was worth much more than a dowry, even if it was small, especially because it abutted his estate and could be subsumed into the greater property with little difficulty.

Everything had proceeded well, though the necessity of wooing a woman was little more than a bother in his mind. With Mason’s connections—the most prominent of whom was a baron—and his wealth and standing in society, enhanced by the addition of Longbourn to his holdings, he could not imagine a woman refusing him. That Miss Bennet would soon be on the shelf was more evidence that she would accept him without hesitation, for she must consider it the greatest of fortune that she had attracted him even as the threat of spinsterhood loomed.

It had, therefore, been inconvenient to learn that he might have some competition for her hand, as silly as such a notion as competition for a woman of little consequence in the world sounded. Mason had never been acquainted with Darcy, but few in society had not at least heard of the Darcy family. To his family’s prestigious reputation, he added a connection to the Matlock earldom, and several other noble families besides. Mason had been the only man to enjoy such benefits before Darcy’s coming, and now that he was faced with the man and his apparent ease with Miss Bennet, he felt the threat as if the man had cocked a pistol and held it to his head.

This cannot be allowed , thought Mason as he heeled his horse and cantered back toward Netherfield. Miss Bennet is mine ! I shall allow no one to steal her from me.

While he had been in no hurry before, the game had altered. Mason did not know Darcy’s intentions, but he did not mean to allow the other man to act before he did. Mason meant to propose to Miss Bennet first, for she would not refuse a bird in hand for one in the bush of suspect legitimacy.