Page 29 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

Day 41/13: Tuesday, November 19, 1811

Elizabeth waited near the path to Netherfield’s north fields. She had left a note for her family that she had asked Cook for a lunch and intended to spend the day on a ramble. It would be odd—and if the repetitions stopped abruptly, she would have quite a bit of explaining to do—but at least her family would not worry.

It was strange: the past six days had flown by. She would have thought that six days spent primarily in Mr. Darcy’s company would be pure torture; yet, the man had a dry sense of humour and was kinder than she ever would have expected.

Not to mention how immensely enjoyable it was watching him attempt to navigate small talk. They had even made a game of trying to guess how someone would respond to various enquiries. It was something she had done by herself for years, and playing it with a partner was more fun than she would have guessed.

Her lips turned up. Somehow, Mr. Darcy was proving to be an excellent companion for this adventure.

A wide smile broke over Darcy’s face as he approached the north fields and Miss Elizabeth. The previous lease-holder had not managed the land well, and the tenants had left when the buildings were no longer fit for habitation. Netherfield’s north fields were perfect for their purposes—completely deserted.

Miss Elizabeth had, after some persuasion, agreed to allow him to attempt to teach her to ride. He had borrowed Bingley’s sweetest mare and had asked one of the grooms to saddle her with a ladies’ saddle. As he had taught Georgiana how to ride, he was confident he could help Miss Elizabeth. And really, Belle was very gentle and not at all fleet-footed. His only worry was that Miss Elizabeth would find her too tame.

“Mr. Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth greeted with a smile when she saw him.

Darcy’s smile grew as he bowed deeply in return. “Miss Elizabeth. A pleasure to see you on this fine day.”

She curtsied deeply, her dimples in evidence. “And you as well.” She glanced up at the sky pointedly. “It does not look like rain.”

“I agree—we should have several hours of sunlight.” Forty-one Tuesdays had given reason to believe that rain would not be one of their problems today.

Miss Elizabeth eyed Belle. “I see you have brought a horse.”

“Sisyphus is a bit tall for you. But once you are confident on Belle, I believe he will let you ride him.”

Miss Elizabeth eyed Belle and then Sisyphus. “ If you can convince me to try this another day—one day may be more than sufficient.”

“But if you learn to ride, you may join me in searching the countryside for Mrs. Engel,” Darcy reminded her.

Miss Elizabeth mock glared at him. “Because it would not be at all odd to see us riding around the countryside far and wide, searching for a mythical being that no one else can see.”

“Well, that is an argument for another day,” Darcy said, unwilling to spoil the mood. “Now, let me introduce you to Belle.”

“Introduce me?”

“You cannot expect to enjoy riding your horse if you do not know her, can you?”

Miss Elizabeth shook her head. “I do not know.”

That evening at her aunt’s dinner, Elizabeth suppressed a gasp as Mr. Wickham greeted her. The man had never come when he knew that Mr. Darcy had also received an invitation—apparently, the rest day meant he did not know about Mr. Darcy’s presence.

If only she could warn Mr. Darcy. She hated the thought that Mr. Wickham would be here, as hidden and annoying as a spider web stretched across one’s path in the early morning.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wickham.” She hesitated. “I have heard that you are from Derbyshire; do you know Mr. Bingley’s friend, Mr. Darcy?”

Mr. Wickham nodded, though she thought he might have paled in the candlelight. “Yes. We are acquainted.”

She pasted on a smile, hoping it did not look as false as it felt. “Then you shall be glad to see him tonight, I suppose.”

“Glad to see him?” Mr. Wickham repeated blankly.

“Yes, I believe Mr. Bingley was to carry an invitation to him. At least that was what my sister said.”

Mr. Wickham’s complexion further paled. “I―”

Elizabeth nearly cursed as Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley entered. She had so hoped to get rid of the man before Mr. Darcy would have to deal with him.

Mr. Darcy strode over, a thunderous look upon his face. “Miss Elizabeth,” he greeted, immediately stepping between her and Mr. Wickham and turning to face that gentleman. “Wickham.”

Mr. Wickham’s gaze flicked from Mr. Darcy to her and back again. “Darcy. I did not expect to see you here.”

“Clearly,” Mr. Darcy said in clipped tones. “Leave. Now.”

Mr. Wickham opened his mouth and then closed it. He nodded at Elizabeth. “It appears I am going now. Perhaps Mr. Darcy will explain precisely why he does not wish to renew our acquaintance. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Elizabeth gave a small curtsy.

Mr. Darcy immediately turned to her, putting out a hand as though to grasp hers and then, apparently thinking better of it, he tucked his hands behind his back. “Are you well?” he asked anxiously. “He did not—he did not injure you in any way, did he?”

Elizabeth chuckled. “I do not know what you believe he would do in a house full of people—particularly as my uncle is the local solicitor—but no, he did not injure me.” She studied him for a moment. “Are you well? You were likely hoping to have a day free from Mr. Wickham and now you have been forced to see him again.”

“Yes, I am well,” Mr. Darcy said firmly, though the tension around his eyes and mouth proclaimed the opposite.

Elizabeth’s fingers itched to reach out and soothe him with a touch to his arm, the way she would have done with Charlotte’s youngest brother. It did not seem proper somehow though, so she merely nodded.

Talk had erupted around them, but Elizabeth attempted to ignore the whispers. Unpleasant as the scene had been, it had been nothing compared to the day when Mr. Darcy had lost control and punched Mr. Wickham. Truly, his abrupt manner with the man had been a mercy.

“We shall simply have to enjoy our evening as best as we may,” she said with a forced smile. “After all, it is our day of rest.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Darcy said.

Day 42/14: Tuesday, November 19, 1811

As they had agreed upon, Darcy left early the next morning for London. He intended to spend the next three Tuesdays speaking to his aunt and uncle, both individually and together. Hopefully, they would be the keys to protecting Georgiana and ending Tuesday’s repetitions.

He was glad he was going—he was getting far too attached. When he had seen Wickham standing next to Miss Elizabeth, he had almost stalked over and punched the man again. He could not bear the thought that she might pay the price for his inability to curtail Wickham.

In the clear morning light, he had once more reminded himself that pursuing Miss Elizabeth would be unwise. The ton would never accept her, and it would not be fair to put her in that position. The thought of her light being slowly strangled by the ton’s wretched ways filled his bones with ice. No, much better for her to find a husband who would be less—encumbered by status and rules than Darcy was.

Although—a smile touched his lips as he recalled the way she had looked standing up to Wickham. It was the same fiercely determined expression, the same lift of her chin and sparkle in her eye that was in frequent evidence around Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. If anyone could handle the ton’s disapprobation, it would be Miss Elizabeth.

Tempting it was to pretend that there was no one in the world save for Elizabeth and him, Wednesday would eventually arrive.

And then reality would crash in and the difference in their stations would separate them.

It was good that he was going away.

Elizabeth awoke at her customary time, went on her customary ramble, endured Mr. Collins’s customary nattering... Mr. Darcy’s absence left the whole day colourless. He was not at all the man she had believed him to be. His kindness and gentleness while teaching her yesterday... the way he had rushed to protect her from Mr. Wickham... his smile—so endearing, as though he were still trying to practise it. She could not help but think of him as she lay awake at night, wondering how to rescue Miss Darcy.

A part of her wished that Tuesday might continue on; she was not ready for Mr. Darcy to resume his stolid manner. Likely, the moment Wednesday came, the distance between them would return, and she was beginning to see him as a true friend.

As they reached the point where Mr. Wickham and Mr. Denny customarily met them, Elizabeth decided that she could at least amuse herself with Mr. Wickham today, even if she could not see Mr. Darcy.

“And where are you from, Mr. Wickham?” she asked once they were introduced, shifting slightly so that Mr. Wickham had to shade his eyes or have the sun shining directly into them.

Mr. Wickham smiled at her. “The Midlands. Derbyshire.”

“Ah, I have been told that the Peaks there are beautiful. You must miss them,” she said with mock sympathy.

“It has been quite some time since I have returned, so yes, I do miss them.”

Elizabeth smiled at him. “Then you shall be glad to hear that there is another staying in Hertfordshire who is also from Derbyshire. Perhaps you may share reminiscences of the Peaks.”

“Another?” Mr. Wickham asked, his face a mask of polite inquiry.

Elizabeth kept her smile fixed. “Mr. Darcy. He is Mr. Bingley’s dearest friend. Perhaps you have encountered one another before?”

Mr. Wickham paled, but quickly recovered. “Indeed, we have.”

“Well then, I shall look forward to reintroducing him to you. He is well-respected among the community,” she said, mentally substituting herself in place of “community.” “We will be glad to know anyone who has his approval.”

Take that, you viper, she thought, as Mr. Wickham began to hem and haw and eventually made his excuses.

If he ran away of his own accord, would that end Tuesday’s repetitions?

She sighed as Mr. Collins drew nearer once more and began chattering about how pleasant Meryton was. At least she had heard the talk so many times that she did not need to pay attention.