Page 18 of Only Mr Darcy (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #1)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
E lizabeth had just finished a note to Miss Bingley requesting the carriage, when from the sitting room window, she saw a strange sight: Miss Darcy, alone, departing the house. She would not have thought much of it had she headed for the gardens, but instead the girl’s destination appeared to be the woods bordering the eastern side of the property.
Elizabeth was very familiar with these forested acres—indeed, she had crossed through them in a shortcut to Netherfield from Longbourn. However, the paths could be confusing to one unfamiliar with the property, and if the younger girl did not keep her head, she could find herself lost in the trees. Immediately concerned, Elizabeth gave her note to a servant to deliver to her hostess, hurriedly donned her coat, and set out after her.
It did not take long to find her—even though Miss Darcy had gone farther into the forest than she had expected. But she caught a glimpse of the blue of her coat within the heavy greens and shadows, and hastily caught up to her.
“Miss Darcy,” she called, when she was not too far distant. “Miss Darcy, please wait. I fear you are heading away from the park.”
The blue coat paused without turning; Elizabeth had the odd impression that its owner was deciding whether or not to bolt. Thankfully, finally, Miss Darcy turned to face her.
Her eyes were swollen with tears, her cheeks a blotchy red, her shoulders shuddering with the obvious effort of restraining sobs that had yet to be released.
“Oh, dear girl, I am so sorry,” Elizabeth said, going to her quickly with outstretched arms. At the embrace, the younger woman seemed to crumple, her sobs loud enough to startle the small woodland creatures accustomed to a quieter cloak of woodsy silence. After patting her back for long moments, and once the harshest wave of tears was past, Elizabeth found a handkerchief in her coat pocket and handed it over.
“I am…I am s-sorry,” Miss Darcy stuttered. “I-I should not?—”
“Stop, now,” Elizabeth ordered, albeit gently. “Everyone needs a good cry now and then. I know a place where we can sit until you feel better.”
“C-can I remain there for the rest of my l-life?” Miss Darcy sniffed, and Elizabeth hid a smile; for the first time, she was reminded of Lydia’s overdramatic, often tragic, fifteen-year-old views. Still, she allowed Elizabeth to take her arm and steer her in the opposite direction.
They emerged from the wood and, taking a cross-path, were soon again in sight of Netherfield. Miss Darcy froze in instant protest when she realised how close to the house they were. “I cannot go back inside. Do not ask it…I just cannot!”
“No, no, we will not. Just to this side is a folly, with stone benches facing. We are unlikely to be disturbed. You cannot see it from the house, and it will give you time to sit and rest.”
Meekly, she allowed Elizabeth to lead her to it; the sun was weak but shining, and the grounds were peaceful. Gradually, Miss Darcy’s last shudders soothed, and she gave a little intake of breath, as if drawing in courage to speak. “I suppose you wonder why I have been wandering in the woods in a state of near-hysteria,” she said.
Elizabeth smiled at her. “Only if you feel like speaking of it. If so, know that I am happy to listen. I can even restrain the urge to give you advice afterwards, if you wish. There is not a Bennet sister alive who has not spent her share of time in the woods, mewling like a newborn. It is one of the blessings of living in the country. I do not know what young ladies in town do to relieve their feelings. I do not think strolling about a Royal Academy exhibition, searching for pictures of trees, could possibly have the same restorative effects.”
This drew the faintest of smiles from Miss Darcy, but it turned quickly to a frown. “I wish I were already married to Mr Bingley,” she sighed.
Elizabeth was grateful Miss Darcy was not looking at her in the moment of her statement—else the girl would have seen her aghast expression before it was quickly schooled. “You…you are betrothed to Mr Bingley?” she asked carefully.
“Oh, no. But it is a favourite wish of his sisters—and my brother as well, someday, I suppose.”
Elizabeth thought about what she could say to this, but any reply depended upon Miss Darcy’s feelings. “Are you enamoured of him?” It could explain her tears, if she had misinterpreted Mr Bingley’s ‘fluttering’ over Jane.
“Not at all. I daresay I should make efforts to school my sentiments in that direction. Sentiments are so very obstinate, however.”
“You cannot know how sincerely I agree with you on that point,” Elizabeth retorted. Miss Darcy looked over at her with interest, but Elizabeth hastily continued before her companion could remark upon it. “Surely it is a few years before you must think of schooling anything, however.”
The girl sighed once more, and then drew her hands across her bodice in an aggressive manner. “The men never think so,” she said, sounding so harsh, so bitter that Elizabeth was immediately worried.
Young ladies in Miss Darcy’s position were never left alone, were always watched over so carefully—or at least, they were supposed to be. Elizabeth and Jane, having more lackadaisical parents, had experienced more than one situation when it had been necessary to…to insist upon the courtesy they were due, and to be firm in countermanding the male sex. Not that she had remembered any firmness coming to mind when the man in question was Mr Darcy. Determinedly, she resisted remembering her experience with this girl’s brother; it was not the same at all. It was impossible to believe that Miss Darcy of Pemberley had ever been left to fend for herself. And yet…her tone and her tears said otherwise.
She reached over and put a hand on Miss Darcy’s sleeve. “Have you been imposed upon by someone, dear?”
The girl’s lip wobbled. “Yes,” she said, so softly, her reply was almost inaudible.
Elizabeth slid closer on the bench so that she could place her arm about the younger girl. She did not know what to say, what was proper, what would help.
“You may tell me what happened, if it would help to speak of it,” Elizabeth said, at length. “Or you may say nothing at all, if you prefer. I am your friend.” Her sympathy was all she could think to offer.