Page 39 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

After Mr Darcy arrived and withstood the joy and effusions of his future sisters and mother-in-law, he proposed a walk outside to enjoy the day’s unusual warmth.

Elizabeth agreed quickly with his inclination, recognising that the exercise might help dispel her restive state.

She nodded at Kitty, her eager chaperon, and the sisters retrieved their boots, gathered their pelisses and hats, and led Darcy through the door.

“Please,” she said quietly, “let us speak of anything but weddings and my mother’s relief.”

Before he could reply, Elizabeth took a deep breath and filled her lungs with the crisp chilly air. She revelled in the familiar scents of the season—the smell of woodsmoke, the new decay of fallen leaves, and dying grasses shedding the night’s frost in the glory of warm afternoon sun.

The sound of Darcy’s deep voice broke the stillness. “Autumn in Hertfordshire is quite lovely.”

“But nothing to Derbyshire, is that right?”

“It is far colder, of course, being so far north. Winter arrives early, and spring is welcomed later than we would wish. I believe you will admire the landscapes at Pemberley. We have done little to tame the wildness of nature there.”

She did not answer and was startled when Darcy leaned over and peeked at her below her bonnet. “You would prefer that harmony of nature to cultivated gardens?”

His propensity to understand things so true and important to herself was both vexing and pleasing.

Her emotions—a jumble of gratitude and grief, anticipation and bewilderment—could overwhelm her.

Her aunt’s letter had relieved so many of her concerns and deepened both her curiosity and respect for Mr Darcy.

She now knew her future husband to be a kind, generous man; he had apologised for any pain he caused her and done all he could to assist her family.

She was beginning to appreciate him as a friend, but it was daunting to consider all she had yet to learn.

“Do you have a favourite view? A place of special memories?”

She slowed, watching Kitty gathering chestnuts before looking up at the man beside her.

“I hope to understand you better, to appreciate something of the places you have spent happy hours. We are to be married, and I wish us to know one another.”

Elizabeth looked into his eyes staring at her so earnestly, his hands moving restlessly at his side, clutching his walking stick.

“I know you a little,” she said softly, shyly.

“I know you have at least some genuine feelings for me, despite my father’s scheming.

” She reached, a little boldly, for one of his hands.

“I know your hands, like your thoughts, are rarely still, no matter how carefully immobile you hold yourself.” When had Mr Darcy’s emotions become so apparent to her?

She thought for a moment longer, biting her lip, and glanced up at him again. His eyes had darkened, watching her. Elizabeth stared back, finding the words difficult to form. She brought his hand up, almost to her chin, filled with a new, enticing emotion of her own. She heard his breath catch.

Kitty’s cough, a common echo within Longbourn’s walls and even more worrisome since Mr Bennet’s death, stirred Elizabeth to her senses.

“There is a stand of beech trees surrounding a large oak stump where we would play as children. Games of imagination, fairy tales, and pirate battles,” she said, smiling impishly, using his hand to turn him in the direction of the beeches.

“I think you were not a princess,” he said slowly, not releasing her gloved hand as they began walking again, “but preferred to be a knight at the round table. The oak stump?”

The feeling of her much smaller hand held within his own was almost as distracting as his gentle teasing.

“My father told you too many tales of his daughter, ‘Lady of the Torn Skirt and Muddy Boots’.”

He nodded, smiling. “He did, yes. He was fond of recounting your adventures. He quite admired your ingenuity.”

“Since hearing the news of my engagement, so does my mother.”

She peered sideways at him, wondering if he would use the opening to comment upon her mother’s excessive enthusiasm, so embarrassing to her daughter. But he ignored it.

“My cousin and I would have enjoyed your games. Jousting with tree branches was a favoured sport.”

“Your cousin, the colonel? He seems to have found his destiny early.”

Darcy took a deep breath. “He did. As a second son, he was fortunate to find the profession best suited to him. He is a happy man in uniform.”

“Happily unattached as well, I believe? ”

Distracted by her hand in his, he admitted nothing but the truth.

“I could not answer whether my cousin is happy or not, nor whether he wishes to be wed.” Of the two of them, Richard had been better suited to marry Anne.

It would have been less complicated for him to wed her and take over Rosings.

Perhaps, as his uncle proclaimed, Lady Catherine would have survived her daughter’s death if she had been mother-in-law to the more jovial Richard Fitzwilliam, who— if unshackled from his war duties—might have given her the patience and attention she sorely demanded.

But shackled he had been, on the Continent and unable to be reached by letter and thus unable to return to England and save his cousin’s reputation.

And he would never have kept the promise of confidence that Darcy had made to Lady Catherine.

“Is your cousin not your closest friend?” Her tone made clear her surprise. “I thought Mr Bingley to be, but as I enjoy different affinities with my sister Jane and Charlotte Lucas, I understand the equivalencies of camaraderie.”

He was heartened by her perception and gently squeezed her fingers. “You begin to comprehend me, Elizabeth.”

Her step stilled and he wondered whether he had gone too far.

“I would do so better if I could reply in kind.” She shook her head. “I mean, if I knew your Christian name as you do mine.”

“You have not read the settlement?” At her quiet demurral, he continued. “I am named for my mother’s family. Fitzwilliam.”

“Eleven letters!” A shrill voice startled them, and their hands dropped to their sides. “That is a very long name, Mr Darcy. There are nine letters in both Catherine and Elizabeth, and only five in Lydia.”

Elizabeth was red with embarrassment at her sister’s admittedly insipid observation, but Darcy knew she was simply a young girl seeking to impress her future brother.

He smiled. “You are quick with numbers, Miss Catherine. I had not thought of it, but my sister, who is near to your age, also has nine letters in her name. Georgiana.”

The girl appeared overwhelmed by his encouraging response and a brief memory of Mr Bennet’s disparagement of his younger daughters flitted though his mind. Darcy determined to do better.

“She has made do with only a cantankerous older brother and will be pleased to have five sisters.”

He earned a smile from his future sister, who returned to her nut gathering.

The warmth of Elizabeth’s regard washed over him, as appealing as her earlier, more physical gesture. And then her brow furrowed.

“Your family, though,” she said in a low voice, “will surely not all be pleased to welcome me as your bride.”

He would like to tell her the opposite but he could not. “I shall be honest. My uncle would call this a degradation, a reprehensible connexion.” He felt her tense beside him.

“Then, sir, why should you make it? A union between us is in my best interest but I do not know that it is in yours.”

He drew closer, and met her with a steady gaze. “I married once for reasons that were rational, for the sake of my family.”

This time, his hand reached for hers, enveloping hers in a steady warmth.

His voice was warm as well, and confident.

“I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness and yours, without reference to them. I know what I am about, and my family will come to know you as I have, and all will be well.”

Elizabeth nodded her acceptance. Darcy tipped up her chin so he could see the face beneath that black bonnet.

She wore a small smile, one that was shy and sweet and lovely.

She was so dear to him now. She thought of his interests, when she faced far more urgent problems; how could one not admire her unselfishness, her loyalty to her family, and now, to him?

He loved her.

As they entered Longbourn’s yard, the excited voice of Mr Collins could be heard, howling in outrage about deceit and licentiousness. Kitty turned to them, shocked, and ran ahead. When the door opened, they could hear Mrs Bennet cry out.

“Mr Darcy has made his choice. He is a gentleman, she is a lady. They are practically equals!”

“Miss Elizabeth is in mourning, as are you, madam. This is not the time for an entanglement that would disgrace the houses of Darcy and de Bourgh!”

Elizabeth, her arm still wrapped around Mr Darcy’s, felt him startle. Suddenly he stepped quickly towards the house, leaving her standing on the step. She ran after him into the front hall and looked into the drawing room. Her mother and sisters sat staring with shocked expressions at Mr Collins.

“Mr Collins!”

The vicar whirled around to see his patron filling the doorway of Longbourn’s drawing room, a furious expression on his face.

“If you must preach scripture to a most unwilling audience, pay heed to the Book of Proverbs: ‘Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.’”

Mr Collins squinted at Mr Darcy, as if aware he was the target of an insult and unable to grasp its meaning or consequence.

“You hold the entail for Longbourn. You may assume your rights to the estate when the Bennet ladies have been re-settled, but not a day before, do you understand? They are under my protection.”

“My understanding was advised by Lady Catherine before her tragic death, sir, and agreed upon by Mr Bennet. I am to wed one of his daughters.”

“With only your word that such a promise exists, you have no standing.” Darcy’s jaw tightened. “But it is of no consequence. I am to wed Miss Elizabeth. Her sisters will be mine as well, and be under my protection?—”

“Mr Darcy, you flout the laws of reason and society. There should be no new courtship during the mourning period.”

Elizabeth stepped forward and linked her arm with Mr Darcy’s. He glanced down at her and covered her hand with his before replying. “As you see, our courtship and betrothal began weeks before Mr Bennet’s death.”

Although she had grown up with barnyard animals, Elizabeth could not recall a rooster ever puffing its chest in territorial claim to the degree that Mr Collins now attempted.

“Yes, sir, but I am here as cousin to the Bennets, their most important male relation and benefactor. You are not family to the Bennets.”

“But I shall be within the month.” Darcy’s voice, which had begun the conversation with a roar and quieted to a steady coolness, now dripped with condescension.

“A final reminder, Mr Collins, that it is in your interest to do well by me and the Bennets. Do not think of yourself as their benefactor. Mrs Bennet and all her daughters are under my protection. Longbourn shall be yours once a new house is arranged for them. My solicitor will write to you when the arrangements are set,” Darcy concluded. “In the New Year.”

A flustered Mr Collins could not contain his confusion over the disruption of his life’s plan, and his eyes, involuntarily or not, swept over Jane. Elizabeth tensed and prepared an intemperate remark. There was no need .

“Have I told you I stay with my friend, Mr Bingley, three miles from here at Netherfield? He returns to his estate within the next day or so, and looks forward to accompanying me on my visits to Longbourn.” Mr Darcy gave Jane a meaningful look.

Her blush seemed to settle something in Mr Collins’s mind, but there was a long moment’s pause before he spoke.

A remarkably long moment, when Elizabeth thought of it later, as she lay in bed considering the events of the day.

Her mother and sisters were not known for their silence; their nattering and giggling had been chief reasons for her father’s withdrawal from their communal rooms. But they were clever enough to recognise when a ridiculous man had been delivered a set down, and they were clearly eager to see his response.

“Madam, your loss is also mine, and we shall always remain family if not the best of friends.” Mr Collins bowed to Mrs Bennet. “I shall return and make Longbourn my future home in the New Year.”

He gathered his hat and turned back to the assembled group. “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.”

In the first moments after Mr Collins’s exit, a collective sigh of relief was heard. Before Mrs Bennet could begin with her questions, Mr Darcy pulled Elizabeth into the hall. The cool arrogance he had displayed to Mr Collins melted away into a most becoming earnestness.

“Miss Elizabeth, I apologise for abandoning you. The insults and suppositions made by your cousin demanded my immediate attention.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed it, holding it gently within hers as she spoke. “You did as you must, and my mother and sisters and I appreciate your care and defence of our name. ”

“‘A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity’.”

She could not help but laugh. “I believe you surpass my cousin in manners, wisdom, and application of scripture.”

The smile he returned her was wry. “That is a small compliment, indeed.” After a long moment he spoke again. “Your cousin is a fool, unworthy of any of your sisters.”

“Fortunately, my sisters are made safe for more worthy suitors. Again, thanks to you and my father.” She smiled shyly before whispering, “You, most of all.”