Page 53 of The Mercy of Chance

T he late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Longbourn’s drawing room as the party returned, Elizabeth’s heart thundering beneath her composed exterior.

Mary, ever observant, lifted her eyes from her book to study her sister’s countenance with quiet intensity.

“You seem remarkably restored by your walk, Lizzy,”

she said.

“I gather your ramble was restorative?”

“Indeed.”

Elizabeth untied the black ribbons at her neck, conscious of the precious understanding so newly forged between herself and Mr Darcy.

“Although perhaps not quite as beneficial as the company.”

Jane, still caught in the glow of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s engaging discourse, sat near the window with her embroidery, although her needle remained motionless as she gazed abstractedly into the garden.

“I cannot recall when last I saw you smile so,”

Mary persisted, closing her book with deliberate precision.

“Not since before…”

The unfinished sentence hung in the air.

Elizabeth’s joy faltered for a moment, guilt threading through her happiness.

“Lizzy?”

Kitty looked up from her own needlework, suddenly alert.

“Oh! Oh, surely not…”

“What am I missing?”

Mrs Bennet asked, roused from her reverie by Kitty’s exclamation.

Elizabeth felt the pressure of their combined regard, save Jane’s.

She glanced toward Mr Darcy, who stood by the fireplace maintaining an admirable fa?ade of composure.

“I had planned to wait,”

Elizabeth began, “out of respect for our mourning.

But as Mary has quite thoroughly exposed my inability to mask my feelings…” She drew a steadying breath.

“Mr Darcy has offered for my hand.

And I have accepted.”

“Oh!”

Mrs Bennet’s hand flew to her chest.

“But this is… this is…” For once, words seemed to fail her.

“Grandfather would have been so pleased,”

Kitty said, her usually frivolous manner giving way to genuine emotion.

“He always said Mr Darcy reminded him of himself at that age.”

“Did he?”

Darcy’s voice held surprised pleasure.

“He did,”

Mary confirmed.

“Although he also suggested you should find considerable benefit from learning to smile more frequently.” Her lips curved subtly.

“I observe that particular fault appears to have been addressed.”

“The mourning period,”

Mrs Bennet mused, practical concerns asserting themselves.

“For a grandparent, three months of full mourning would be quite sufficient, followed by half-mourning…”

“He was more than a grandfather to us,”

Elizabeth interjected gently.

“These past years especially…”

“Of course, my dear.”

Mrs Bennet’s voice softened with understanding.

“But consider - would he not want your happiness secured? A wedding in half-mourning, with all due gravity and respect…”

“Perhaps in summer,”

Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested from where he had stationed himself near Jane’s embroidery frame.

“When the skies match Miss Bennet’s eyes.”

This drew Jane’s attention.

She turned from her contemplation of the garden, took in her sister’s radiant expression and Mr Darcy’s poorly concealed adoration, and burst into delighted laughter.

“Lizzy! How long did you intend to keep this secret?”

“Approximately three more hours,”

Elizabeth admitted.

“But Mary has quite remarkable powers of observation.”

“Mr Darcy has been watching you as though you were the sun breaking through storm clouds,”

Mary replied dryly.

“It required no great acuity.”

“Has he indeed?”

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled as they met her betrothed’s.

“How remarkably unsubtle of him.”

“I find subtlety rather overrated at present,”

Darcy murmured, his composure cracking into a smile that would have astonished his London acquaintance.

“Would June still be rather soon?”

“Three months of full mourning would be more fitting, given Grandfather’s particular role in our lives.”

Mary said.

“And then half-mourning could begin in July,”

Kitty calculated, her fingers touching the black ribbon on her sleeve.

“Although Lizzy, you need not rush to grey silks merely because convention allows it.”

“The question of timing need not be settled this hour,”

Darcy interjected, his voice gentle as he noted Elizabeth’s conflicted expression.

“What matters is the understanding between us.”

“How diplomatic you have become, sir,”

Elizabeth replied, her smile warming.

“Although I suspect society may have stronger opinions on the matter.”

“Society’s opinions, whilst no doubt numerous and forcefully expressed, hold no particular sway over such decisions for me,”

Darcy answered with steel beneath his smooth words.

“I see marriage has not yet been accomplished, yet already you champion your future wife’s wishes,”

Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a grin.

“A most promising beginning, cousin.”

“A most promising beginning indeed,”

Elizabeth replied, her eyes bright with amusement.

“I wonder, Colonel, whether your diplomatic skills might not be better employed in other quarters than teasing your cousin?”

“You may rely upon it, Miss Elizabeth, that years of military service have taught me to deploy my resources where they might prove most effective.”

The Colonel’s glance toward Jane held careful meaning.

“And what lessons has your service taught regarding the merits of a strategic retreat?”

Darcy enquired dryly, noting the hour.

“That it often precedes one’s most successful advances,”

his cousin returned smoothly, before turning to Jane.

“Speaking of which - I find,” his expression shifted to something more thoughtful as he addressed her, “that travel breeds a particular appreciation for one’s native landscape.

The gardens of Spain have their merits, but they lack a certain… English sensibility.”

Jane’s response, when it came, held that peculiar blend of gentle insight and careful reserve that marked her character.

“Perhaps, Colonel, it is not the gardens themselves but rather our understanding of them that changes with absence.”

“An astute observation, Miss Bennet.”

His smile suggested deeper currents beneath the seemingly innocuous discussion of horticulture.

“One’s perspective does tend to sharpen when viewing familiar territory through new eyes.”

Mrs Bennet, observing this delicate exchange with the amused eye of a reformed matchmaker, noted the Colonel’s attentions and the subtle animation in Jane’s countenance.

Her fingers smoothed her skirts with barely contained satisfaction, although she maintained an admirable fa?ade of maternal indifference.

After the gentlemen had made their bows and departed - Darcy’s lingering look at Elizabeth speaking volumes - the drawing room erupted into joyful chaos.

“Oh, my dear, dear Lizzy!”

Mrs Bennet clasped her hands together.

“Ten thousand a year! And such a fine figure of a man!”

“Mamma,”

Elizabeth laughed, “surely his figure is the least of his recommendations?”

“Although not an insignificant one,”

Kitty teased, then ducked the cushion Elizabeth aimed at her head.

“I cannot think any pair so perfectly matched,”

Jane murmured.

“His gravity complements your liveliness, and your wit lightens his reserve.”

“Whilst we discuss perfect matches,”

Elizabeth’s eyes danced, “shall we speak of a certain colonel’s marked attention to a certain sister?”

Jane’s blush spoke volumes.

“Lizzy! We are celebrating your engagement.”

“And what better celebration than the prospect of another?”

Mrs Bennet interjected.

“Although I must say, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s conversation shows a decided improvement over certain other gentlemen’s efforts.”

“Mother!”

Jane protested, but her smile betrayed her.

To think,”

Mary mused, setting aside her book—a certain sign of the occasion’s import, “that Grandfather’s final triumph should lead to such happiness.

He would have revelled in the justice of it.”

“He would have celebrated the man you have chosen,”

Jane agreed.

“He saw Mr Darcy’s worth long before any of us.”

“Even Lizzy,”

Lydia added, her eyes alight with mischief.

“Especially Lizzy,”

Elizabeth admitted, sinking onto the sofa beside Jane.

“Although I maintain my blindness makes my current clarity all the sweeter.”

“And what of your clarity regarding a certain colonel, dearest Jane?”

Mrs Bennet prompted hopefully.

“Mamma!”

Four voices chorused in amused exasperation.

But Jane’s quiet smile, Elizabeth noted, spoke of possibilities yet unfolding.

The two gentlemen paused in what had once been the grand entryway of Dunbar Court, where a fine chandelier now listed precariously, dark and tarnished, several pieces missing from its once-elegant array.

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon light streaming through grimy windows.

“Your definition of ‘requiring some attention’ rivals Bingley’s of ‘a small party of intimates,’”

Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked, running a finger along a once-elegant side table.

“Although I must say, the accommodations do remind me fondly of certain more rustic campaigns.” He lifted his hand and brushed off a layer of dust.

“You find my temporary lodgings lacking?”

Darcy grinned as he led the way toward what might once have been the library.

“I am confident, the roof is entirely sound—in at least three rooms.”

“How fortunate we are only two, then.

Although I note you have chosen to maintain your own staff at minimal levels.

Preparing for married life with an estate manager, cousin?”

Darcy’s expression softened at the reference to Elizabeth.

“I find myself increasingly appreciative of practical knowledge in matters of property management,”

he paused before a window overlooking overgrown gardens.

“This estate has remarkable potential, although it would require dedicated attention to restore it to its former glory.

And no small purse of ready funds.”

“And your own obligations at Pemberley would make such dedication… challenging.”

The Colonel remained deliberately neutral.

“Indeed.

I have wondered whether a man of military precision—guided, perhaps, by someone acquainted with the local soil—might find in it an excellent opportunity.”

Darcy turned to face his cousin.

“Particularly if such a man wished to establish himself within a convenient distance of… certain neighbouring estates.”

“How diplomatically put.”

The Colonel’s eyes sparkled with understanding.

“And would this hypothetical man’s efforts benefit from the counsel of an insightful local beauty?”

“I could not speak to that,”

Darcy replied gravely, although his eyes betrayed his amusement.

“However, I understand the eldest Miss Bennet has shown remarkable aptitude in matters of estate improvement.”

“Indeed?”

The Colonel moved to join him at the window, his gaze drifting toward Longbourn’s distant chimneys.

“How fortunate that military service has taught me to recognise superior intelligence when I encounter it.”

“More fortunate still that you have learnt to act upon such recognition—with decisiveness.”

“Unlike some of my acquaintance who required a great deal of time to acknowledge their own good fortune?”

“I prefer to think of it as a thorough evaluation of merit,”

Darcy replied with dignity.

“So, it is to be termed thus, is it?”

The Colonel laughed.

“Well, cousin, should your thoughts about this estate’s future prove more than speculation, I believe I might be persuaded to take up the commission.

Particularly given the… strategic advantages of the location.”

The garden had begun to bloom in earnest, though it felt quieter than it had in years.

Kitty knelt beside the thyme beds, pulling back spent stalks and thinning the new growth with careful hands.

The air was fragrant with sage and damp soil, bees humming low and steady.

Her grandfather had been gone a fortnight.

His absence lingered everywhere—in the stillness of his study, the unsent letters on his desk, the way the family now relied upon her for the upkeep of the herb garden without needing to ask.

When Mr Blackwood approached the gate, Kitty did not stand.

She glanced up briefly, her hands still busy with a stubborn root.

“Good afternoon,”

she said, smiling.

“Miss Catherine,”

he replied, removing his hat.

“I… I was told I might find you here.”

“You were told correctly.”

She sat back on her heels.

“If you have come about the marigolds, they’ve taken well in the eastern beds.

I can dig a few starts for you.”

“Thank you,”

he said.

“But it… was not the marigolds.”

Something in his voice made her finally rise.

She brushed her hands against her apron, waiting.

“I had meant to speak with your grandfather first,”

he said quietly.

“To ask for his blessing before approaching you.

But—” He faltered.

“But I know he trusted you to manage what matters now.

And so, I come to you directly.”

Kitty’s heart beat a little faster, though her face remained still.

“I have been offered an apprenticeship in Exeter,”

he said.

“With a physician of some reputation.

I am to leave within the month.

The work will be long and exacting.

And I will not be free to return for some time.”

She nodded once, already sensing what must follow.

“But before I go, I wished you to know—”

His voice steadied.

“My regard for you has grown beyond friendship.

I admire your mind, your humour, your quiet strength.

I do not presume to expect anything from you now, but… I hope that, in time, you might consider a more formal understanding between us.

When I am in a position to offer one.”

Kitty looked down at her gloves, now darkened by damp soil.

She took a breath, then met his gaze.

“You are the first person who ever asked what I knew about anything,”

she said quietly.

“Not what I wore or how I danced, but what I had studied.

You listened.”

He swallowed hard.

“I hope always to listen.”

She allowed herself the smallest smile.

“You have my permission to write to me, Mr Blackwood.

On the condition that your letters include medicinal observations.

Especially of the useful kind.

I’ve no patience for men who rhapsodise about fevers and then misdose the laudanum.”

He laughed, relief and something warmer in his eyes.

“Then I shall write faithfully.

And often.

And humbly submit all botanical claims for your approval.”

She stepped aside, gesturing toward the edge of the thyme bed.

“You may take a handful, if you like.

It dries well against the headaches that come with spring storms.”

He bowed, but did not reach for the plant.

“Only if I may return the favour,”

he said, hesitating before continuing.

“I have something that belonged to my mentor—an apothecary’s folding case, for samples and tinctures.

It is worn but well made.

I thought… you might find it useful.

And I should like you to have it.

As a token—of shared study, if nothing more.”

Kitty blinked, startled by the quiet intimacy of the offering.

Not flowers, nor jewellery, nor anything a sister might tease her over—but something that fit precisely into the rhythm of her own hands and daily work.

“I would value it greatly,”

she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

“Thank you, Mr Blackwood.”

As he turned to leave, she did not watch him go at once.

Her eyes returned to the soil, the quiet beds of rosemary and yarrow, the place where her grandfather once knelt beside her.

When she looked up again, Mr Blackwood was gone—but in his place, she felt something solid take root.

Not grief, not quite hope.

Just the steady promise of something growing.