Page 9 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived
M r. Collins was happily engaged in recounting something about Rosings to Mrs. Phillips when Darcy entered their hostess’s drawing room that evening. Various people were grouped around the room, but Miss Elizabeth sat in a deserted corner, as though unwilling to endure even one more moment in Mr. Collins’s presence. Darcy smiled internally; they were of one mind regarding the man and now he could spend more time with Miss Elizabeth. She glanced up when he entered, their gazes meeting for a brief second before she turned her attention elsewhere.
What other woman would so modestly refrain from claiming his attention? He was struck anew by how refreshing it was to spend time with someone who was not trying to entrap him at every turn. Miss Elizabeth might not follow the common conventions of flirtation in the ton, but her particular brand of arch wit and feigned disinterest drew him in far more than any woman ever had.
Hopefully, spending time with her would dissipate the allure just as effectively as spending an evening with any of his aunt’s favourite debutantes.
“Good evening, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said, approaching her.
Miss Elizabeth gave a forced smile. “Mr. Darcy.”
The poor woman had been enduring Mr. Collins all day—it was no wonder that she was not amenable to company. Darcy sat down on the settee next to her; at least he could protect her from Mr. Collins for the moment.
As an awkward silence fell between them, Darcy was not sure if Miss Elizabeth would appreciate conversation or if he should leave her to her thoughts—her day had been trying and he was perfectly content to simply revel in her presence. Then again, how was he to obtain a surfeit of Miss Elizabeth without speaking to her? He opened his mouth and then closed it; he had no idea how to begin the conversation. Would it be too abrupt to simply ask her about riding?
Darcy clasped his hands together, unsure what to do with them. To have them sitting beside him would appear to be encroaching upon her space, but to cross his arms would strain his coat and was, after all, rather impolite. He normally kept his hands at his sides or behind his back, seldom sitting down, preferring to simply stand to one side in drawing rooms—mobility was key when attempting to avoid persistent pursuers.
He tapped his fingers together, wishing some clear sign of how to proceed would drop from heaven. It would be odd to merely stare at her while sitting next to her. But if he started talking, he could look at her as much as he chose; it would, indeed, be impolite not to do so. And, after all, she would not remember anything he said, no matter how badly he botched it.
“Miss Elizabeth―”
She started before glancing up with a fixed smile.
Darcy cleared his throat, disconcerted by her disquiet. “Do you ride?”
Miss Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before shaking her head, her curls bouncing against her cheeks. “I have never become proficient at it.”
“I would have thought that with your love of the outdoors, you would be an accomplished horsewoman,” Darcy said with a frown.
She stiffened. “No.”
“Does it not hamper your exploration of the countryside?” he asked, resting his hands on his knees.
“Does not having to care for a horse and to ensure that you do not run into a hole, or attempt to jump an overlarge obstacle, hamper your exploration of the countryside? Do you not have to leave your horse prey to thieves whenever you wish to examine something that is inaccessible to a horse? Does not the presence of your horse limit your examinations altogether?” Miss Elizabeth asked pointedly.
Darcy relaxed, glad to see that she seemed to be amenable to another of their debates. “I have never considered the matter from that perspective. Sisyphus—my horse—is trained to follow me when commanded, and though I have tied him up on occasion, it is never for long. And he would certainly complain, loudly, were someone to attempt to steal him.”
“Well, to each his or her own.”
“I am surprised that your parents did not require you to develop proficiency—riding is a skill regularly used.”
Miss Elizabeth gave a delicate shrug. “My feet have sufficed thus far.”
“They have indeed,” Darcy agreed, his lips upturned as he pictured her exertion-flushed face when she had arrived at Netherfield to succour her sister. “Still, I believe, given your penchant for morning rambles, that you would quite enjoy a morning ride.”
The muscles around Miss Elizabeth’s eyes tightened, though she smiled. “I am afraid, Mr. Darcy, that we shall have to agree to disagree.”
As he could not discern the reason for her tension, he simply nodded. Fortunately, before the silence could become terribly awkward, the card tables were set out. For a moment, Darcy hesitated. He hated the noisy chaos of lottery, but perhaps he could simply sit next to Miss Elizabeth and continue their conversation without being forced to appear enthusiastic about the game.
Miss Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose higher than he had ever seen them when he accompanied her to the lottery table and took a seat next to her.
“Are you fond of lottery, Miss Elizabeth?”
Miss Elizabeth smiled. “I believe one’s enjoyment of lottery is entirely determined by one’s company.”
Which meant precisely what?
“You do not find the lack of skill involved to be an annoyance?” he asked.
“That depends upon whether I am in the mood for a mentally stimulating game or whether I would prefer to engage in character-study. Activities that include the element of luck, such as lottery, often bring out sides of people that one seldom sees.” She glanced at her hand and then back at Darcy. “What of you, Mr. Darcy? I would not have expected you to choose lottery over whist.”
“I much prefer games of skill over games of chance,” he said, looking at his cards with distaste.
“Ah. I am not surprised that you do not relish the loss of control inherent in a game of chance.”
Darcy twitched as Miss Lydia let forth a piercing shriek. “Do you enjoy games of skill?”
Miss Elizabeth nodded. “Depending upon my mood, yes. It is enjoyable to be challenged, is it not?” She stared at her cards. “I believe chess is considered one of the quintessential games of strategy; do you play?”
“I have many fond memories of playing chess with my mother, but after her death, I did not continue the game.” He hesitated. “And after my father’s death, I have had little time for games.”
“How old were you when your parents died?” Miss Elizabeth asked quietly.
Darcy’s shoulders tensed and he made a conscious effort not to hunch in on himself. Though it had been many years, he still could not speak of their deaths without pain. “I was twelve when my mother died and twenty-two when my father followed her.”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “So young. That must have been difficult.” She set her cards face down on the table. “Then you have had charge of your sister for some time?”
“Yes,” Darcy said. “I share that duty with my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but he is often abroad with the army. I do not complain, but the charge of the estate and of my sister has limited the amount of time I can spend on more frivolous activities.”
Miss Elizabeth studied him as though she were attempting to puzzle out how this latest information affected her character sketch of him. “Perhaps you merely need to find pleasure in your daily life.”
Darcy set his cards down. “How so?”
“You speak as though pleasure is something that one must make time for—and I believe such an action is sometimes necessary—however, most often pleasure can be found in one’s daily activities,” she said. “After all, is it not the small pleasures that colour life?”
“Such as watching the sun rise to hearten one for the day ahead?” he suggested.
“Indeed,” she said, picking up her cards once again. “I find that enjoying the bounties of nature or a well-cooked meal or an exquisite piece of music are all useful ways of bringing colour to one’s life. I imagine you have many things in which you find joy. It is simply a matter of noticing and embracing those moments to their fullest so that they may enrich the rest of one’s life.”
“I won!” the youngest Bennet crowed, shoving her card in Miss Elizabeth’s face.
Miss Elizabeth flicked a glance at him before returning her attention to Miss Lydia, her cheeks beginning to flush. “You did.”
“And you said that I never collect enough fishes to make lottery tickets worthwhile, Lizzy!” her sister proclaimed.
Darcy’s stomach twisted with disgust. How could Miss Elizabeth be so lovely and engaging while the rest of her family was so lacking? He could hardly stand to be in the same room with them. The way Mrs. Bennet studied Bingley as though she were already mentally sizing him up for a wedding coat, the way the younger Bennets frolicked through every event as though they were truly children—how had Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet ever learned any sense of decorum?
The game continued, but Miss Lydia’s interruptions persisted and Darcy abandoned the conversation.