Page 35 of The Happiness of a Most Beloved Sister (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
T hey had arrived at Longbourn on a Monday, and by Friday Elizabeth was ready to leave again, perhaps never to return.
Even in thinking such, she supposed herself rather unreasonably dramatic, as if she should be singing her woes in Italian and a screeching soprano, but she could not help wishing it all the same.
Her treatment by her younger sisters had improved immensely, they having apparently grown tired of shunning her sometime over the winter, and her father had never done more than laugh at the sorry state of things, but her mother was another story.
Elizabeth had grown accustomed to Jane’s coldness and had learnt to largely overlook it, especially since their tête-à-tête in London, but Mrs Bennet’s antagonism was more difficult to disregard.
If she were not outright berating Elizabeth over the tiniest infraction, she was pretending not to hear her when she spoke.
If she so much as drew near enough to Mr Bingley to exchange pleasantries with him, her mother would bustle over to divide them, apparently equally as fearful as Jane that she might do something to somehow dissolve their engagement.
Her future brother seemed perplexed by this behaviour but allowed it to carry on without comment, which was perhaps for the best.
Thus, Elizabeth tended to spend as much time out of doors as possible.
Thankfully, late spring was the best season for such excursions, being neither too hot nor too cold and only infrequently beset by passing showers.
When precipitation did fall, Elizabeth was familiar enough with her family’s land to enable her to find shelter, and the dress she commonly wore for walking out would not suffer unduly from a bit of mud.
Indeed, unless it fell apart at the seams, it could hardly look more worn than it already did.
No one who came across her as she roamed seemed to mind; nor was she bothered if they did.
Until, naturally, she stumbled across the only man in the world she wanted to think well of her.
“Mr Darcy!”
“Miss Elizabeth, well met.”
Darcy dismounted from his steed with fluid grace, landing upon the lush grass with a soft thump.
He was turned out as well as ever—curse him—in a well-fitted green jacket, buff riding breeches, and a starched white cravat that looked no worse for wear after his ride.
If there was so much as a fleck of dirt on his riding boots, she would eat her bonnet.
Elizabeth, by contrast, stumbled into a curtsey in a plain brown dress that was only respectable in the sense that it ably covered what it was meant to.
There were various stains upon the fabric, more than just six inches worth of filth on her petticoats, and the hems were undeniably frayed.
Her bonnet was equally old and did not match in the slightest, save for how pitiful it was. Good Lord, she must look a fright !
To her further chagrin, Darcy’s gaze roved up and down her form and he commented, “You are looking well.”
“Ha!” was her immediate rejoinder, a single note that encompassed every bit of sarcasm she possessed—which was quite a bit, all told. “I look like the veriest ragamuffin. I wonder that you do not turn round and speed back to London.”
Darcy’s responding chuckle was raspy and full of good humour. “You are, as ever, much too hard upon yourself. I daresay you could wear a burlap sack with admirable grace.”
“Given that this gown greatly resembles a burlap sack, I suppose I must thank you for the compliment, horrid lie though it is.” She sighed. Rallying her dignity, she continued, “But enough about my disgraceful appearance. What do you do here, sir? I had not expected you till next week, at least.”
“I told you I would be here as soon as was feasible, did I not?”
“You did, but I dared not hope that you would complete your business in a matter of days. Is your sister off to Sanditon already?”
“No, not yet. I had a great inducement to finish quickly, and Fitzwilliam indulged me by taking over the final preparations.” As he said this, he fixed Elizabeth with a pointed stare that made her toes curl within her walking boots.
Unable to withstand the intensity of it for long, Elizabeth lowered her gaze and began walking, paying little heed to which direction she took. From her periphery, she could see Darcy fall into step with her. “I am glad you are come, for I have missed your company.”
Darcy stumbled, tripping over a clump of grass, yet remained upright. “You have?”
“Indeed. I have been lonely without you.”
“Did you not receive a proper welcome at home?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “For the most part, I did. My father has never taken my sister’s part against me, preferring to laugh at us both, and my younger sisters seem to have forgiven me. Jane still has not, nor has Mama, and it makes being at home uncomfortable.”
Darcy’s voice lowered to a sober pitch. “I am sorry to hear it.”
“That is not to say that I did not miss you on your own merits,” Elizabeth hastily said, angling slightly to look at him again.
She was fortunate to witness the moment that his mouth turned up in a slight smile.
“Even if I had returned to a hero’s welcome, I still would have felt the loss of our conversations.
No one quite understands the turn of my mind the way you do. ”
His ears turned red—something she knew occurred when he was feeling particularly bashful—and he turned his gaze to the ground, mumbling, “I daresay you give me too much credit.”
Endeared by his manner, Elizabeth sidled closer to him. “Nonsense, you are an admirable listener, as well as a dispenser of excellent advice.”
Darcy’s fingers brushed against hers, just for a moment, before he withdrew them. Softly, he said, “I am at your service.”
Looking away again to hide her blush behind the rim of her bonnet, Elizabeth changed the subject.
“Speaking of services, the banns for Mr Bingley and Jane are to be read for the first time on Sunday, and my mother is planning a celebratory dinner afterwards. My family would be most pleased if you were to join us—myself, especially.”
“Then I shall be there.”