Page 13

CHAPTER 13

B ingley extolled Miss Bennet’s charms all the way to Longbourn. Confident in my own impending success, I listened with more interest than was my wont. I wondered why, if he was so enamored of Miss Bennet above all others, he had not secured a gift for her. Perhaps he felt it was too soon to grant her such a distinction. Did he fear he might change his mind? The thought made my brow furrow, but I did not feel it appropriate to put the question to my friend just then, not until I had proven myself to be a credible authority on the subject of courtship.

We dismounted and left our horses with the stable boy. The houseman waited at the door, ready to see us inside to the front parlor. I had a question for the groom, but it would have to wait until my call had finished. Snippets of the conversation Elizabeth and I had enjoyed in the hut had given me a glorious idea, but I required more information.

Mr. and Mrs. Bennet received Bingley happily. They were charmed to meet Colonel Fitzwilliam, though Mrs. Bennet informed him in no uncertain terms that their pleasure would increase exponentially if he would be so gracious as to wear his uniform rather than plainclothes for any future calls.

The matron turned to me and sniffed. “Mr. Darcy,” she acknowledged stiffly. “What are you doing here?”

I bowed and widened my smile. “I assure you, Mrs. Bennet, I am calling today with the most honorable of intentions.”

Her eyes widened. “Lizzy?”

I nodded.

“B-but you said she was not handsome enough to tempt you! You said?—”

Before she could repeat anything else I had said, I interrupted. “My sight has improved dramatically since the assembly.”

“We are saved! Come! Come into the drawing room! The girls will have put it in order by now! Mrs. Hill, do bring in a pot of tea! And the cake!”

Mr. Bennet smiled wryly and followed his wife into the drawing room. “Yes, do bring the cake for our guests, I beg you! I have had my fill and would sooner give up my library than ever wish for another slice in this lifetime.”

Elizabeth sat on a chair with her ankle propped upon several pillows that had been stacked over a footstool. She smiled when she saw me and blushed prettily when her mother pulled a chair closer to her and insisted I sit there.

Bingley joined Miss Bennet on the settee, and the two youngest wasted no time vying for Richard’s attention. With Miss Kitty hanging off one arm and Miss Lydia on the other, he had little choice but to join them on the couch, where Miss Mary perched on one end, her lips pursed into a disapproving frown. Mrs. Bennet joined the group in a chair nearby, and Mr. Bennet took his position where he could best observe the performances and make his own remarks for the benefit of those appreciative of his sarcasm.

I leaned closer to Elizabeth. “How fares your ankle?”

“Sore enough to keep me off it, but not so sore that I occasionally forget my injury and attempt to stand…”

“…upon which you are immediately reminded…”

“Precisely! It is a maddening injury…”

“… that will take twice as long to heal if you are not cautious.”

She nodded, her eyes smiling. “You sound as though you speak from experience.”

“It is much worse when the weather is fine.”

The smile spread to her mouth. “True! With this rain, I ought to be grateful that the weather is assisting my recovery. Another week will do.”

“You said you are a quick healer,” I reminded her. I would rather she give herself an extra week to be safe; however, I knew that, were I in her condition, I would never agree to more.

“It is miserable being trapped indoors when one would rather venture out.”

“A sentiment I share with you.” I was pleased to be discussing something we had in common. Conversing with her was easy and agreeable, a delightful, flowing back-and-forth.

I reminded myself again that I must speak with Longbourn’s groom before departing. If my idea was worthy, Elizabeth would soon have a means to enjoy the out of doors without endangering her ankle.

We talked about books and music and the effects of the recent storm. The Widow Scott had called earlier with a healing salve, a remedy she swore had helped generations in her family recover from all sorts of injuries. This, of course, led to an exchange about her neighbors and how they had been affected by the storm.

I grew increasingly warm by the fire, but so long as Elizabeth seemed to enjoy my company, I would not hint at my discomfort. How grateful I was that I had not chosen to give her chocolates, or they would be melting in my pocket!

After checking to ensure the attention of the other occupants of the room was engaged elsewhere, I pulled the box from my coat pocket and extended it to her. The satin ribbon gleamed.

Elizabeth pressed one hand against her chest, her eyes uncertain. “For me?”

I nodded and held it closer for her to take. Nobody seemed to notice, and I looked on in pleasure as a smile blossomed over Elizabeth’s face and a comely blush bloomed in her cheeks.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.” She slipped off the ribbon and removed the lid. Her gasp made everyone look our way. “I have never seen anything so beautiful!”

I replied softly, hoping her family would realize the contents of the box were not intended for them. “They are a sweetmeat from Constantinople. Those fortunate enough to have sampled them call them Turkish Delights.”

She held the box so I could see inside. “Are you certain they are edible? They are too pretty to eat!”

“What is that?” asked Mrs. Bennet in a piercing tone, already crossing the room for a closer look. Her youngest daughters followed her like ducklings.

Miss Kitty gasped loudly. “They are perfectly beautiful!”

Miss Lydia clapped her hands and bounced. “You must let us have one! I shall die if you do not let me taste one.”

Did Elizabeth’s sisters not understand that the gift was not theirs? I sat on my hands lest I snatch the box away from them.

Apparently intrigued enough to stir from his chair rather than merely observe from across the room, Mr. Bennet approached us to examine the cause of all the fuss.

Mrs. Bennet thumped her fan against his chest. “Do you remember when you would bring me pasties from the bakery? You were so attentive when we were courting!”

Mr. Bennet frowned, though the direction of his unhappiness was unclear. Was he displeased with himself for allowing his attentions to his wife to dwindle or with me at the realization that I intended to court his daughter?

Elizabeth clutched the box closer to her. “This is an extremely thoughtful gift. Mr. Darcy must have gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange for them to be sent here.”

Arranged to be sent? I did not like that. Procuring the Turkish Delights had not been a simple task. My man had gone to a great deal of trouble…

I sighed inwardly. Without the help of my man of business, I would have no gift to offer. All I had done was to order everyone about and pay generously. My will had been done with little personal sacrifice on my part.

She looked at me then, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, leaving me to question whether she had intended to imply what I had assumed. Perhaps I had drawn my conclusion based on yet another misunderstanding.

Bingley, too, got swept up in the excitement. “Great trouble, indeed! I have made several attempts to try a Turkish Delight, but every time I get word a new shipment has arrived, they are already sold out! There is only one shop in London that sells them, and the Prince Regent gets preference, of course. They are a favorite of the royal family.”

Miss Bennet commented gently, “If they are so rare, and Mr. Darcy gave them to Lizzy, then we should allow her to enjoy them without any obligation to share with us.”

Finally! Someone with sense!

“Speak for yourself, Janie! I want a taste, and I will not move from this spot until I get one!” replied Miss Lydia, her feet planted beside the stool where Elizabeth’s injured ankle was resting.

Miss Mary, whose curiosity had moved her to join the rest of her family for a peek of the confections, furrowed her brow at her outspoken sister. “I thought you disapproved too strongly of Mr. Darcy to accept anything from him.”

Excellent point. I watched Miss Lydia’s reaction. She pouted her lips together in thought, momentarily troubled.

Elizabeth lifted her chin, her gaze fixed on Miss Lydia. “A proper gentleman seeks ways to contribute to others’ pleasure and well-being. They do not make promises they do not fulfill.”

Miss Lydia’s pout deepened. From the angry look she cast to her sister, I saw she understood that Elizabeth’s comment referred to Wickham. Still, she did not move.

Miss Kitty jabbed Miss Lydia, remarking loudly, “You heard Widow Scott speak highly of Mr. Darcy yesterday, how he climbed onto her roof to make repairs along with the other men in the village, and she was only one of the many people he helped.”

Mrs. Bennet fanned her face and scrutinized me over the lace-edged rim. She still did not know what to think of me, and I was not so disposed to optimism to believe one kind gesture sufficient to win her approval.

Elizabeth caught my eye, and I saw the twinkle there and the quirk of her lips. She held the box close to her chest, preventing her family from seeing inside as she looked away from me and doled the Turkish Delights out one by one. Bingley and Richard refused, saying they much preferred Mrs. Bennet’s plum cake, winning them the matron’s favor as well as my everlasting gratitude.

What had been an extravagant gift for one lady was insufficient for the Bennets. Six candies for seven people. My horror intensified with every paper-wrapped confection Elizabeth handed out. Mrs. Bennet moaned, Mr. Bennet smacked his lips, and Elizabeth’s sisters expressed their approval unanimously.

I watched in dejected embarrassment as Elizabeth pressed a finger into the sugar dust and raised it to her mouth. So well did she disguise the fact that there were not enough, not one person commented on it. But I knew, and I felt my failure intensely. Why had I not waited for a better time to present her gift?

Her smile widened as her family expressed their delight, making me realize that had I given her the candies without them seeing, she would have shared them and been happier for it.

There being nothing anyone could do or say to surpass the delight the Bennets found in the confections, we soon took our leave.

Mrs. Bennet tapped me on the arm with her fan. “You are welcome to call whenever you please, Mr. Darcy. There will always be a chair for you in my parlor.”

I turned back for one final glance at Elizabeth, wishing I could utter an apology without making light of her generosity. She caressed the empty box, fingering the satin ribbon with a look I did not trust myself to interpret correctly. From my perspective, my first attempt to woo Elizabeth had been an abysmal failure.

Wanting nothing more than to nurse my wounded pride in private, I made myself pause at the stables, attempting to console myself that tomorrow’s call would go better but with little success. After collecting the information I required for another surprise, I joined Bingley and Richard, and we rode for Netherfield.

“When you decide to woo a young lady, you do it proper, Darcy!” Bingley praised. “I did not realize you preferred Miss Elizabeth, but I am delighted to know it!”

I was not encouraged.

Richard rolled his eyes at me. “Look back at the window, you big lug.”

I scowled at him but looked over my shoulder. As soon as my eyes met hers, Elizabeth pressed her hand against the glass. My heart flipped and somersaulted. Beside her, Mrs. Bennet waved a handkerchief.

Richard laughed. “If your aim was to secure the ever-loving devotion of a lady, then I declare you have succeeded… with Mrs. Bennet!”

I had to laugh despite my disappointment. My first call on Elizabeth had not been what I had hoped, but I would keep trying. Figuratively rolling up my sleeves, I anticipated the morrow. And my next attempt.