Page 35 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived
I t was a simple matter to allow Mr. Collins to walk next to them on their way to Mrs. Phillips’s. The man had just stated that he had found Lady Catherine in good health when Darcy, after a glance at Elizabeth, interjected. “Have you ever seen her in poor health?”
Mr. Collins checked. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh is as hale as she is bounteous,” he proclaimed as though he were reading from a script. “She is well-versed in methods of maintaining one’s health and prides herself on regular physical exercise by means of walking in Rosings’s exquisite gardens. Of course, due to her daughter’s ill-health she is aware of the dangers one may face and is careful to guard against them.”
“And does she favour one garden in particular?” Elizabeth asked.
Mr. Collins smiled benevolently at her. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh is particularly fond of the ruin she constructed after her husband’s death. But, if you are referring to the gardens nearest the house, then she prefers the north walkway—it is most strictly maintained and rarely is there a plant out of place.”
“That does sound like my aunt,” Darcy said, grimacing. She was so rigid, and he hated to think of how similar they were in that respect. Still, he preferred the wild look at Pemberley, which hopefully said something about the flexibility of his soul. “Although I recall her saying that the south walk—which was, as I am certain you are aware of, my late uncle’s preference—was one of her preferred walks as it reminded her of him.”
The man nearly stumbled. “Well—I―”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at Darcy and mouthed a complaint about the unfairness of his tactic. Darcy suppressed a chuckle and prepared to pay greater attention to Mr. Collins’s words than ever before.
Days 46/18-62/34: Tuesday, November 19, 1811
That bet proved to be only the first of many. They kept track of how many times Mr. Collins used “beneficent” in reference to Lady Catherine, how often someone mentioned the weather in casual conversation the “first” time Elizabeth introduced Mr. Darcy to them, even how quickly Mr. Wickham would desert the group. Some days Mr. Darcy won, and others Elizabeth bested him. Through it all, however, Elizabeth could not help but marvel at Mr. Darcy’s sense of the ridiculous. He had been hesitant at first, but she now had the impression that his sense of fun was merely rusty instead of entirely absent, as she had first believed. It was not something she had expected. Two weeks later, they had reached the point where any mention of the weather sent a pointed look toward the other and “beneficent” caused Elizabeth to hold up a running tally on her fingers.
“Why do you think she is not coming?” Elizabeth asked Darcy on her 34th Tuesday.
“Mrs. Engel? I do not know. Presumably she has a reason—or, at least, if I do not believe that there is a reason, I shall go entirely mad.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “Perhaps we should go to London and speak to your relatives; Jane and Mr. Bingley could accompany us.”
Darcy raised one eyebrow. “I do not think your parents would be content with that course of action. Nor do I believe it wise to risk your reputation in such a manner.”
Elizabeth came to a halt and raised one eyebrow back at him. “This coming from the gentleman who assured me that there was no risk to my reputation as Tuesday would inevitably begin again.”
Darcy’s expression softened. That had been before—now, the thought of her reputation coming into question, of her losing the ability to make choices about her future, opened up a chasm in his chest as every particle of his soul proclaimed that it must not be .
How had he become so entangled?
He cleared his throat. “I was wrong. We do not know who may awaken, nor whether anyone else is already awake. It is too risky.”
Elizabeth merely frowned. “The risk could be minimal if we came up with a reasonable explanation for such a trip.”
“Why do not we try closer to home again?” Darcy said. “Let us speak to Colonel Forster together; you may be the key to changing his opinion.”
Elizabeth hummed in response. “Did he believe you before?”
“I do not know,” Darcy said with a shrug. “The first time, he appeared genuinely concerned and willing to keep a close eye on Wickham. Likewise, every subsequent time I have spoken to him.”
“Perhaps he is simply not a man of action?” Elizabeth said dubiously.
Darcy sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Or he is not the right person to convince.”
“I thought that you wished to begin ‘closer to home.’” Elizabeth reminded him with a smile.
“I do,” Darcy said. “I just do not know who we ought to speak to. It seems like it must be someone we have either not considered talking to—one of the other officers, perhaps?—or someone we have yet to meet.... Or someone who is unwilling to change, like Wickham.”
Elizabeth squeezed his arm. “We shall prevail. Now, you said you wanted me to try trotting today?”
Darcy smiled down at the woman who had become such a dear friend over the past several weeks. She really had no desire to learn to ride, but for the sake of taking his mind off their troubles, she was willing even to practise riding. He nodded and then helped her up onto Belle.
Instruction proceeded apace with the other days they had spent in this manner—for all her protestations of dislike, Elizabeth was both determined and intelligent enough to retain instruction. It would truly not be long before they could ride about the countryside together—providing, of course, that they brought someone with them for the sake of Elizabeth’s reputation.
When the lesson ended, Darcy carefully helped Elizabeth down.
Elizabeth’s fingers tingled as Mr. Darcy held them for a few moments longer than necessary when helping her down from Belle. A blush covered her cheeks, and she looked down in confusion as she realised how long she had been gazing into his eyes, marvelling at their rich brown colour and their flecks of gold. She had recognised his appeal when they had first met, but then he had opened his mouth and all sense of interest had fled.
Lately, however, awareness had returned. Most of the time, it happened only at the most inconvenient moments—such as when they were alone and there was nothing she could distract him with or blame her discomfort on.
Her wayward heart had begun to attach itself to him—and it was no wonder: Mr. Darcy was kind (an appellation she never would have used before), passionately protective of those he loved, intelligent, determined, diligent, and willing to put others’ needs above his own. True, he was still a bit stiff with those he did not know, but he had owned that fault and worked to rectify it. Not to mention how solicitous he had been with her. And his dry sense of humour regularly left her hiding a smile.
Were it not for his position, he would be her match in every way.
As it was, though, he could never marry someone so intimately connected to trade—nor with such a family. Disgust always flooded his features on the rare occasions he was forced to interact with her mother, Lydia, or Kitty.
Thus, every time she caught herself admiring him, she reminded herself of the facts. Their unique situation had already brought them closer together than was at all wise, and while it continued, he would continue to be a dear friend.
But, someday, Wednesday would arrive and he would return to London—and she refused to cast herself in the role of Juliet.
And so, she dragged her gaze from his beautiful brown eyes and determinedly focused on Belle. She might not be able to prevent her heart from straying entirely, but she could at least hide that truth from Mr. Darcy.