Page 14 of Searching for Elizabeth (A Pride and Prejudice Variation)

—afternoon—

Elizabeth Bennet had done so much writing that day, for once in her entire life she felt all written out.

Mary had not come. She had enough food for dinner and for breakfast the next day. Barely enough. If Mary did not come before noon the next day, Lizzy would have to walk to Meryton to buy food, or possibly try to find Bernie or someone else to purchase food for her. But, for now, she was fine, and she would pretend as if she would always be so.

Lizzy was aware that this would be a continuing problem. As long as she was scared about being snatched up and made to marry Mr. Collins, life at Blackthorn Cottage was going to be even more difficult than living alone in a humble cottage normally would be, with no servants, barely a kitchen, and no well for water.

But better this than buckling to Papa’s weak principles and Mama’s self-centered wails, she told herself. So Lizzy put all of those continuing-problem issues to one side and focused on right now.

She decided that she had to write to the Gardiners. She had not been able to do the research to find out how much she would need each week, but perhaps she could just make a guess and then change the amount later.

As clearly and unemotionally as possible, she wrote about being banished from her childhood home and family. Because she did not want her uncle to try to rescue her, she gave no indication of her location, but she exaggerated her safety. She wrote that she was cozy and warm in her new home, and that some of her family (although in reality, it was just Mary) and several friends (really, only Mr. and Mrs. Hill) were taking care of her. However, she informed her uncle, she was going to need a regular income of five pounds per month, and she would subsequently invest only whatever monies were left over. Since Uncle had been receiving her payments from Mortimer Press, Lizzy asked him to send money and messages to her by way of Hill, with a private messenger giving letters and parcels directly into Hill’s hands.

With her letter ready to be mailed, she had the perfect excuse for a walk. She decided that, since the Millcroft farm was closest, she would try to enlist Bernie’s help.

Once again mostly hidden by her black cloak, Lizzy hurried toward the farm and then, staying hidden in some trees, watched for a few minutes to assess where each family member was. The two young girls were hurrying across the farmyard and disappearing into the vegetable garden. The weathered Mr. Millcroft was scurrying between rows of wheat, and Mrs. Millcroft was scattering chicken feed and then gathering a few eggs. The hustle and the bustle slowed, and soon there was only one Millcroft to be seen: Bernie Millcroft, bending over a seed drill and whistling a merry tune.

Lizzy clicked her tongue, and when Bernie turned toward the odd sound, she moved a bit so he could see her, and then she beckoned to him.

He hustled over to her, and when she murmured, “I do not want your family to see me,”

he followed her deeper into the trees.

“Are things still just as bad?”

Bernie asked.

“Yes, but do not worry. I have written to my uncle and aunt in Town, and I am sure that they can help me. But I dare not go to Meryton to mail the letter. I was hoping that you could go for me?”

“Oh! I…I am supposed to fix the seed drill….”

Lizzie said, “I can stay here long enough to fix the seed drill. If someone from your family comes out and sees me, I can tell them you are lifting heavy things for me, so I am helping you with your chore.”

Bernie nodded, apparently eager to help.

“Thank you,”

she said. She watched Bernie carefully place the letter into the pocket of his coat. She said, “Remember, with the trouble in my family, I do not want you to tell anyone, not even my mother, or Jane—no one at all—that you saw me. Is keeping my secret something you think you can do?”

Bernie looked as conflicted as he had the day before, and Lizzy knew that part of it was that he could not think of any non-scandalous reason for keeping such a secret. She whispered, “Trust me, Bernie. This is for the best for everybody.”

He straightened up, squared his shoulders, and raised his finger to touch the rim of his hat in a kind of salute.

“Yes, miss, I can do it.”

And then he dashed off toward Meryton.

Lizzy bent over the seed drill and used a handful of grass to gently brush at the grooves and the funnel, cleaning away loose dirt and a few seeds. She soon found the problem, or rather, the two problems: some hardened mud had caked onto the back part of the cylinder, and a small stone was blocking the funnel.

After a quarter of an hour, Lizzy had fixed both of the problems and restored the seed drill to its original spot in the Millcroft yard.

Walking back to her cottage, Lizzy reveled in the lovely day. The blue sky scudded with puffy clouds, and although the air was cold, the sun felt warmer than it had the day before—enough to warm Lizzy’s face when she lifted it up. Most of the oak trees still held onto their autumnal leaves, providing golden contrast against the dark evergreens; of course, the hornbeam and beech and ash trees were utterly stripped of leaves but etched the sky with their myriad branchings. Many shrubs around Lizzy’s cottage had also lost their leaves, and the blackthorn bushes, in particular, looked quite menacing at this time of year, but several holly bushes brightened the area with glossy green foliage.

Lizzy rejoiced in the beauty around her. But as she approached the cottage again, and her stomach rumbled quite decidedly, she felt tendrils of her worries unfurling within her. She rounded the corner of the house to approach the front door—and she stopped, astonished.

Mr. Darcy stood there. He had clearly been waiting a while, because he was not standing straight and stiff, as usual, but instead was leaning back against the door. But when she appeared, he straightened and smiled.

His smile floored her. It also flooded her with warmth and tingles, a feeling unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She felt as if she was some silly child, some Lydia-like girl, responding to a handsome man’s smile so strongly.

She realized that she was smiling back, and she quickly bent to the task of unlocking the door. When she opened it and crossed over the threshold, she turned back to Mr. Darcy and gave him a saucy smile as she said, “Welcome.”

He entered the cottage and looked around, not showing any sign of disapprobation, but instead looking surprised and appreciative.

Lizzy started lighting candles, and she was incredibly embarrassed when her stomach growled again.

Mr. Darcy ignored the sound (he was, apparently, very much the gentleman) and said, “I am very glad to see you, Miss Elizabeth.”

He held out a large bundle wrapped in linen.

“I brought you some food,”

he explained. Then his hand went to one of the pockets of his great coat, and he pulled out a relatively small bottle and added, “And some wine.”

Lizzy felt tears spring into her eyes. She suddenly felt more grateful for this food and drink than she ever had for any other comestibles in her entire life. But she was pretty sure that the main thing she was grateful for was this man’s apparent dedication to searching for her. She said, “Please, be seated in one of my most elegant chairs. Perhaps this Neoclassical chair?”

Mr. Darcy sat in what was actually an old Elizabethan style chair with an extremely threadbare cushion. His eyes alight with happiness, Mr. Darcy said, “I see you have elected to furnish your home with an eclectic style.”

“Oh, yes,”

Lizzy said as she untied the knots of his food parcel.

“I find it especially charming to combine Egyptian and Classical motifs with earlier Gothic elements.

“I quite agree. No one who saw the result could find it wanting.”

Mr. Darcy’s eyes crinkled, his smile was so wide.

As Lizzy eagerly laid out the foods on the table, she asked, “How on earth did you find me? Did Mary tell?”

“Miss Mary promised to ask you if I could call, the next time she saw you, but she would not divulge your whereabouts. She did, however, tell me the name of your cottage, and I admit that it helped me find the place. There are a lot of blackthorn bushes leading to it; still, it took me many hours of riding and walking, over the course of three days, to find the cottage.”

Lizzy thrilled at his words. They seemed to indicate far more regard for her person than she could have imagined in anyone other than her family. And apparently, from what she had heard from Mary, no one in her family had bothered to search for her.

Trying to shake off that particular thought, Lizzy selected a smoked sausage, an apple, a jar of pickled cucumbers, and two potatoes, and she put the rest of the food away in a small cupboard. She laughed as she took a big bite of the apple before she got busy getting out a cutting board and knife, a cast iron pan, and a wooden box that contained butter.

“Forgive me for eating a bit of our dinner, Mr. Darcy, but I am so, so hungry.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, and asked, “Do you know how to cook?”

“Oh, yes. I know very, very well how to cook very, very ill.”

Her laugh bubbled up again.

“I cannot promise delicious food to your delicate sensibilities, but I warrant that it will taste delightful to me…because any food would in my current state!”

Lizzy was gratified that Mr. Darcy laughed along with her, although he also shifted in his chair and crossed his legs. She hoped he was not too uncomfortable.

She felt strangely animated as she cut and buttered and stirred the dinner. Having been even more starved for conversation than for food, she brought up many topics to discuss: the Anglo-Spanish victory at Arroyo Molinos; comparisons of their favorites of Shakespeare’s tragedies, and their favorites of his comedies; Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro, and opera as an art form; and the journal of the Lewis and Clark expedition. Mr. Darcy had interesting things to say about each and every topic. But she appreciated even more the apparent enjoyment he took in hearing her own ideas.

The completed dinner looked like nothing Lizzy had ever eaten before, but it was tasty and filling. They continued their chat about art, literature, and the world—both steering clear of any mention of Lizzy’s parents, Mr. Collins, or a certain banishment. After they had eaten and Lizzy had cleared the table, she presented herself in front of Mr. Darcy. She put her hands on her hips as if she was challenging him, and she asked, “Well, tell me, was dinner not delightful?”

Mr. Darcy stood, and he smiled, but his smile was more gentle and tender now, instead of being radiant and blinding like before. He reached out for her hands, as if they were about to dance, and she allowed him to hold them.

Unlike at a ball, neither was wearing gloves. The shock of skin-on-skin touch stirred Lizzy even more than Mr. Darcy’s smile had, but his grasp was too warm and too comforting to relinquish.

He said, “Miss Elizabeth, I find myself utterly filled with delight. Your dancing eyes and dazzling smile are delightful sights, your contralto voice and bubbling laugh are delightful sounds, the slight whiff of lavender is a delightful aroma, and your smooth skin and pounding pulse—”

and, as he said that last bit, Mr. Darcy stroked his thumb over her wrist, and Lizzy realized just how quickly her heart was beating—“are delightful to my touch. The dinner cooked by your hands was…unique? I want to say…special? But, yes, also delightful, and I can only imagine how delightful it would be to taste you.”

His words pleased Lizzy but also shocked her; she felt the compliment but also the danger, and she realized for the first time just how unprotected she was, a maiden alone in a cottage with an unmarried man.

She rushed into speech, trying to ward off any potential ruination.

“Mr. Darcy, I just realized how much I have broken the rules of propriety by being here with you. And I am not mostly talking about the end of your speech just now, which might be impossibly improper, but I do not really know enough to judge that.”

She pulled her hands back, and he immediately let them go.

“I will not be forced to marry Mr. Collins, and I do not want you to be forced to marry me, nor do I want to be forced to marry you.”

“Miss Elizabeth,”

Mr. Darcy replied, taking a step away from her, “I apologize for my improper speech.”

He blushed and said, “Honestly, before I said the last dozen words out loud, I did not realize how scandalous they would sound.”

He drew his hand through his hair and said, “I want you to know that I spoke to your father, in a more official way, and to your sister Mary, in a friend-to-friend way; what I said to them both, separately, is that my intentions are honorable. I wish to get to know you better, and I hope that you will agree with my belief that we would do very well together. Although I do not want to rush you into having to accept or refuse a proposal at this time, I do want to assure you that I wish to marry you.”

“Oh!”

Mr. Darcy finished by saying, “Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, you have nothing to fear from me about compromise, ruination, rumors, or forced marriage. I promise that I will not breathe a word about my presence in this cottage to anyone, at any time. Unless, of course, you authorize me to tell someone. For example, I am to call on Miss Mary tomorrow afternoon. If you wish me to give her any message or assurance, I will endeavor to speak to her privately so that I can do so.”

Lizzy’s anxieties had been soothed, for the most part, but she released the last vestiges of her nerves in a laugh.

“Wait, what is this? Are you calling on and courting me, or are you calling on and courting Mary?”

“I quite like Miss Mary, but I assure you that I am not courting her. I asked her to gain your permission to call on you, and Miss Mary suggested that she could relay your answer if I came to Longbourn during visiting hours, pretending to be calling on her. Miss Mary thought that your mother would be so desirous of marrying her off, she would allow a bit of privacy with me if I pretended to be her suitor.”

Lizzy could not help chuckling again.

“That is such a wise idea.”

“Indeed, it seemed so to Miss Mary and me, but….”

Mr. Darcy lost his smile and shook his head, and he went on: “Poor Mary—Miss Mary, that is; she was furious that your mother did not cooperate, but instead tried to pair me with Miss Bennet.”

“With Jane?”

“Yes. Miss Jane Bennet seemed to be as compliant to being matched with me as she had been when your mother promoted a match with Bingley. Obviously, I am not saying that Miss Bennet likes me, and I certainly would never want to court her, but from what I have seen, she does as your mother directs.”

Lizzy brought up both of her hands to her chest, feeling pain that she knew not how to relieve.

“Jane loves Mr. Bingley! I am certain of it.”

Mr. Darcy cocked his head and said carefully, gently, “The first time I called for you at Longbourn, the day after the Netherfield ball—was that just two days ago?—Miss Bennet had been crying; I do not know why. But today, her complaisance with her mother’s quite obvious machinations to push her toward me very much appeared to be the same complaisance with which she accepted Bingley’s attentions and your mother’s pushing of that match.”

Lizzy stared at Mr. Darcy, seeing his sincerity, and she tried to see Jane as he had seen her. Could it be true? Could Jane have not been in love with Mr. Bingley?

“Oh, dear,”

Lizzy said.

“I have often thought of myself as someone who is smart about people. Capable of sketching people’s character. But now I see that I misjudged Mr. Wickham, I misjudged you, and I certainly misjudged my father. Did I misjudge Jane as well?”

Mr. Darcy said quietly, “Your mother seated me next to Miss Bennet, although I had said I was calling for Miss Mary. She did not look at all embarrassed by your mother’s machinations, but rather did this glance-up-glance-down thing that many young women have tried with me, and her smile was…I suppose coy is the word to describe it.”

Lizzy was startled to feel real anger toward Jane, if she was flirting like that with someone she should have accepted was there for someone else.

Mr. Darcy continued, “I had to lean forward in order to easily talk to Miss Mary, and Miss Bennet interrupted us multiple times, for no good reason. Finally, Miss Mary and I went outside to talk, and when Miss Bennet came out to call us back in, she did the thing with her eyes again, but this time she took my arm. It reminded me of Miss Bingley, and somehow the idea that it was your sister flirting with me, and that Miss Mary was so upset, and that Bingley had quite liked her—the whole thing made me literally nauseous.”

“It makes me angry!”

Lizzy said. She shook her head and said, “I will concede that I am the worst possible judge of any person if we are now allowed to stop talking about my sister flirting with the man I …with you.”

“You are too harsh on yourself, Miss Elizabeth.”

Mr. Darcy gave her one of his sweetest smiles and said, “You are, in fact, quite good at sketching people’s characters. But you are not infallible. I should like to be infallible myself, so I understand your desire to be perfect, but perhaps you can just relax into being imperfectly perfect for me.”

Lizzy instantly felt better. She looked up into Mr. Darcy’s eyes and said, “Now you are flirting with me, so I need to know how to answer back. What was it? Eyes up, eyes down, coy smile?”

She tried to match her actions to the words, but she felt ridiculous.

He looked at her so adoringly, however, that the feeling faded. She kept her eyes trained on his and just smiled her regular old smile. Looking directly at him, smiling—it may not be flirtation, but it would do.