Page 14

CHAPTER 14

T he flowers arrived the following morning before I wore a path in Bingley’s carpet—but only just.

Eager to be on my way, I paid the driver of the cart, took one end of the crate and, with Richard’s help, carried my prize to my rooms. With bated breath, I pried off the lid.

Nestled inside a bed of straw was a rectangular box. Inside, protected from the jostling of the cart it had endured from the gardener’s greenhouse on the outskirts of London to Netherfield Park, were blush orchids, roses, leaves of eucalyptus, and clusters of cream-colored hydrangeas. The stems had been wrapped in a lovely cream and rose-petal pink ribbon. The flower arrangement was as stunning as I had hoped it would be, evocative of my last visit to Kew Botanical Garden.

Richard, who had pretended to be neither interested nor curious about my delivery until that moment, sucked in a breath.

“What do you think?” I asked as though my cousin were a crystal ball inside Elizabeth’s mind and could tell me how delighted she would be to receive my latest offering. If her heart did not soften toward me at the sight of these blossoms, then I had mistaken her character. Elizabeth loved nature. She would marvel at the beauty brought to her from exotic lands.

Richard cleared his throat and finally found his tongue. “Startling amount of pink.”

I did not react. The arrangement was perfect. The gloss-paper-lined box would enable me to convey the flowers safely to Longbourn without damaging the delicate blooms. Time was of the essence; I must deliver them before they wilted.

Tapping the lid back into place, I changed my coat and donned my riding boots. “Where is Bingley?” He would wish to call on Miss Bennet, if he had not already done so.

“He has spent most of the morning with his gardener. Miss Bingley has grand ideas of building an orangery.”

Cradling the flower-filled box in one arm, I went out to the hall, where I came upon Bingley walking in my direction. He wore a beaming grin and carried a massive bouquet of pink flowers. “Look what the gardener helped me pick for Miss Bennet! Flowers from my own garden!”

I tucked my box closer to my torso, though hiding it was impossible. Richard must have heard Bingley’s excited exclamation, because he joined us in the hall. Glancing at me, he cleared his throat. “So much pink!”

“It is Miss Bennet’s favorite color,” replied Bingley in good humor.

I clenched my jaw. Had I not thought only yesterday that Bingley ought to make more of an effort to show Miss Bennet how much he favored her? Had he not said that my gift had encouraged him to do better for her? Curse my interference! I could not discourage him now without behaving selfishly, and to act against my friend’s best interest—even when it directly opposed mine—would be deplorable. I could not do it… no matter how badly I wished I could at that moment.

Bingley turned to me. “I have you to thank for this, Darcy. Had you not shown me the importance of making my attentions more pronounced, I would not have considered bringing Miss Bennet flowers from my garden. She will know I thought of her and spent a great deal of time selecting the best blooms just for her.” Proudly, he held up the bouquet. “These pink flowers are camellias”—he rotated the bouquet and nodded at a different bloom—”and these are chrysanthemums. The gardener suggested that I ask Mrs. Nichols for some ribbon to tie around the stems and some brown paper to wrap around them so the wind does not ruin the petals on the way to Longbourn."

I could not show him the flowers I had intended to give to Elizabeth. My flowers would make his look countrified and even more so if he did not hasten to wrap them up.

Partially turning back to my room, further hiding my box of flowers from him, I said, “You had best do what the gardener suggested before the heat of your hands wilts the stems.”

“I shall only delay a moment, and then we can be on our way,” Bingley exclaimed happily.

Having the perfect gift for Elizabeth in my hands but knowing I could not give it to her pained me more than yesterday’s disaster. But I would feel worse if Miss Bennet was made to feel that the flowers Bingley gave her were not as impressive as mine to Elizabeth. The younger Bennet sisters would be certain to comment on it. To be fair, Mr. Bennet might not spare his eldest daughter or Bingley from a pithy comment or two. My friend had been too pleased with the results of his morning spent with the gardener for me to undermine his efforts. I could not do that to Bingley… but neither could I go to Longbourn empty-handed.

“Ride ahead with Richard. There is a matter I must attend to immediately.”

Bingley stopped short. “Nonsense. We can wait for you.”

“And risk giving Miss Bennet wilted blooms? Time is of the essence for you. Waiting for me will only ruin your gift.”

He looked between me and his flowers. His hesitancy indicated that he would ruin his gift rather than exclude me when he went to Longbourn. “By the by, what is in the box?”

I forced a shrug. “Nothing of import.”

Richard nodded to me before joining Bingley down the hall and clapping him on the back. “Darcy is right. Come, let us make haste to procure the ribbon you need and be on our way.” He cast me a sympathetic look and steered our friend away, leaving me alone to wallow in disappointment.

With a sigh, I walked with heavy feet to the stables, making haste so as not to meet Bingley and Richard. Was anything left in the garden that Bingley had not already picked? Elizabeth struck me as one to appreciate wildflowers, but I had little hope of finding any at this time of year.

Although… I did recall seeing patches of pansies during my morning rides. Elizabeth favored pansies. Would there be any remaining after the heavy rains of the last few days? If I started scouring the countryside right now, I might gather something worth giving her. I had to try.

By the time I rode to the nearest field’s edge, I had convinced myself Elizabeth would love wildflowers more than their exotic but finicky hothouse cousins. Trapped indoors as she was, she would appreciate a piece of nature, something she might see during her long walks over the fields. Yes, wildflowers were far superior, I told myself. So long as I did not allow my thoughts to return to the flower-filled box in my room, I was satisfied with this delusion.

I was a man on a mission. Unfortunately, after a considerable amount of time riding and searching for any color besides brown and green, I despaired of finding flowers of any variety in all of Hertfordshire. A few times, I was tempted to ask one of the farming families if I might pay for some blooms from their garden, but I could not deprive them of the little bit of brightness and beauty on their property. Wildflowers it would have to be or nothing at all.

After so much grass and mud, I finally chanced upon a patch of pansies on a field’s edge. I leaped off my horse to pluck them before they disappeared. Their stems were short and delicate in my hands. I now understood why ladies used baskets to collect them, and I rather wished I had one. My hand would have to do. As carefully as I could to avoid crushing either stems or petals, I held them in one hand while I guided my horse with the other, making haste lest the blooms wilt before I arrived.

Bingley and Richard were already on their way back to Netherfield Park when I spotted them. Bingley was as happy as I had ever seen him, which was saying much since he was so often happy. His call had been a smashing success—his words, not mine. Miss Bennet had never looked so lovely with the pink blooms near her face. So gracious, so welcoming.

I congratulated him, concluding Miss Bennet was more similar to Bingley in temperament than I had initially suspected. Elizabeth had told me so, and having observed proofs of her claim mounting, I now was in full agreement.

Richard eyed my fist of pansies dubiously, but I had worked too hard to secure them to allow him any influence over me.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked quietly as Bingley continued on to Netherfield.

An image of the beautiful, wasted bouquet in my room flashed in my memory, and I cursed Richard for bringing it to my mind. “Get rid of those blasted flowers.”

He laughed.

I was serious. “I do not want to see them. If I smell their scent lingering in my room, so help me?—”

He saluted me jovially. “Consider it done.”

Before he could delay me any further, I urged my horse onward. Every passing second was precious if I wanted these pansies to look at all presentable. Already their cheerful faces bowed in my fist.

My reception at Longbourn was decidedly warmer than my previous one. Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia circled around me, their eyes on my pockets. Their interest soon waned when they saw I had no sweets.

Mrs. Bennet sent for more tea and seated me by Elizabeth, who smiled widely to greet me.

Extracting the perkiest pansy, I handed the single bloom to Mrs. Bennet. She pressed the poor thing to her bosom, crushing it beyond salvation. “Mr. Bennet! See what Mr. Darcy has brought for me! Remember when you used to bring me wildflowers?”

Mr. Bennet had closed his book to receive me, and at her call, he drew nearer to inspect the blooms remaining in my hand. I rather wish Mrs. Bennet had not drawn his attention to them. Nor mine. On closer inspection, they were a sorry, saggy lot.

I was ashamed to present something less than perfect to Elizabeth, but she had noticed the pansies, so I had to give them to her. I cleared my throat, hoping to salvage some vestige of my dignity and good intent. “They looked so cheerful at the edge of the field. I wanted you to have them.” I grimaced as I handed them to her.

Mr. Bennet said wryly, “Perhaps you ought to have left them there. They are the worse for wear.”

“No!” Elizabeth clutched the pansies closer to her, one hand wrapped protectively around what remained of the purple petals. “They are perfect,” she said softly, her eyes urging me to accept her exaggeration. I appreciated her kindness, but I was not blind.

Mrs. Bennet cast her husband a withering glare, firmly siding with her daughter. Between the two of them, they would have me believe I had given her as handsome of a bouquet as the one sitting useless in my room at Netherfield Park. I was grateful for their kindness.

Miss Bennet smiled, as she often did. Miss Mary extolled the beauty of God’s creation. Miss Kitty swayed with her hands clasped at her chin. Miss Lydia pouted and complained that no gentleman had ever given her flowers.

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip, her smile growing as her cheeks blushed a most becoming shade of pink—the same hue as the orchids wasting away in my room. My frustration renewed just as the younger Bennets remarked upon Bingley’s arrangement, which had been carefully placed in a vase far away from the fire. Swallowing my pride, I focused on Elizabeth’s happiness at my friend’s attentions to her sister.

That Miss Bennet was pleased with flowers plucked from Bingley’s own garden bode well for their mutual contentment. He was eager to please, and she was easily pleased—a winning combination.

My gaze flickered to Elizabeth. She still held the pansies close to her heart. They could not be so dear to her as her gesture implied, but I esteemed her all the more for her sweet reaction when her sisters continued comparing my pansies with Bingley’s bouquet.

Mrs. Bennet, too, held her single pansy proudly.

Mr. Bennet sat forward in his chair and frowned at his wife, who avoided his gaze determinedly as she carefully placed her pansy in a teacup before fluffing a pillow in the chair she insisted I must occupy beside Elizabeth.

Miss Lydia snorted. “I shall expect any gentleman who pays me attention to give me many gifts! The grander and more expensive the better!”

“Then you should accustom yourself to disappointment!” countered her mother, choosing that moment to cast a pointed look at her husband, whose frown deepened before he lifted the paper to cover his face.

Gently placing her pansies on her saucer, Elizabeth said, “My happiness does not depend on tokens, however welcome they are to me.”

“Mine does!” Miss Lydia exclaimed like the child she was.

“Then you cannot love Mr. Wickham!” exclaimed Miss Kitty. “What has he given you? Nothing!”

Miss Bennet moved to sit between her contentious sisters before they resorted to pulling out each other’s hair. “We can all agree it is exceedingly pleasant to receive a gift. However, I think the best gifts are those that communicate how much thought the giver gave to the character of the receiver, an insight into what that person considers important and most enjoys. Elizabeth’s favorite color is purple and her favorite flower the pansy. Mr. Darcy could not have brought her a better arrangement.”

Elizabeth’s eyes locked with mine, and the warmth in her gaze melted away my shame. “I have walked these fields my whole life and know how few flowers can be found at this time of year. What the animals do not eat, the rain and wind destroys. You must have ridden for a long time in the cold and damp to find these pansies.”

I bowed my head. She had caught me out.

Her mother and sisters praised my gesture, and Mr. Bennet’s head disappeared completely behind his newspaper.

Reaching out to touch my sleeve, the tips of her fingers grazing the broadcloth of my coat, Elizabeth said, “I shall cherish them.”

In that moment, I felt confident in my suit and more determined than ever to show her how dear she had become to me.