Page 22 of The Same Noble Line (Darcy and Elizabeth Happily Ever Afters)
D arcy entered the drawing room at Netherfield. The colonel was leafing through a slim volume of poetry he had found, while Georgiana was working diligently on her embroidery. At his entrance, they both looked up, Georgiana with a smile of warm affection and Fitzwilliam with an arch of his brow. Both seemed to be awaiting an announcement.
Well, he would not disappoint them. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “I have a matter of some importance to discuss with you both.”
Fitzwilliam set the book aside with exaggerated care, stretching languidly before gesturing for Darcy to continue. “Go on, then.”
“I have decided,” Darcy began slowly, choosing his words with care, “to call upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“You have decided,” Fitzwilliam repeated. “Does Miss Bennet know?”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “Of course she knows. She has agreed to it.”
Georgiana's eyes widened with delight, a bright smile spreading across her face. “Oh, Brother! How wonderful! Miss Elizabeth—I mean Miss Bennet—she is everything amiable and clever. I had hoped—I suspected—but this is splendid news!”
Fitzwilliam, however, leaned forward, his expression more measured. “A fine choice, Darcy. I must assume you have considered the impediments?”
His cousin was speaking of family and friends who might wish him to make a more illustrious match. Neither he nor Georgiana knew to whom the eldest Bennet daughters were related or the state of that relationship. Darcy had promised his discretion, and he had kept that promise. However, he had considered how best to approach the Earl of Essex situation and had decided that he could seek his uncle’s assistance if required.
It did not matter, in the end. He was at last free to pursue Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and he meant to do so without delay. Everything else could be dealt with, ideally with her help.
He met his cousin's gaze evenly. “I have. I will not allow the expectations of others to dictate my happiness. Miss Elizabeth is the only woman I have met whom I can envision as the mistress of Pemberley. It only remains to be seen whether she will accept the position.”
Fitzwilliam smirked. “And I am sure Miss Elizabeth will be swept off her feet by your thoroughly romantic description of the job at hand. Does your steward know he is about to be replaced?”
Georgiana laughed. “Truly, Brother, I do hope you will work on your proposal.”
“I am only courting her, Georgiana. And if she does allow me to offer for her hand, I shall not be sharing my speech with either of you.”
His cousin grimaced. “Thank the good Lord for that.”
“She will accept you, Brother,” Georgiana said decisively.
“I thank you for your confidence,” Darcy said. “But I will allow her to come to know me better first.”
Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair with an exaggerated air of contemplation. “I never imagined you engaging in such a pursuit—marriage, yes, for you require an heir. But a courtship? Allow me to provide some advice.”
Darcy narrowed his eyes. “I beg your pardon? How many women have you courted?”
“You must admit that I have more experience charming women than do you.” Fitzwilliam did not await a response before continuing. “First, you must serenade her beneath her window. A heartfelt ballad, perhaps. If your singing voice is as tolerable as your dancing, it will surely entrance her.” Undeterred by Darcy’s glare, he pushed on.
“Or,” he mused, feigning deep thought, “you could compose a sonnet extolling the virtues of buttered toast. Ladies adore poetry, after all. Shall I fetch a quill? Write to Sir William for assistance?”
Georgiana, barely concealing her amusement, chimed in. “Do you truly think Miss Elizabeth would appreciate poetry? She strikes me as one who values wit over flowery words.”
“True,” Fitzwilliam conceded a mock sigh. “Then perhaps Darcy should stage a heroic rescue. A punishing gallop across the countryside to save her from some imagined peril? It worked for the knights of old, did it not?”
By now, Georgiana was tittering behind her embroidery, and even Darcy could only shake his head. Fitzwilliam, apparently pleased with his success, grinned broadly and spread his hands.
“Ah, I see my ideas are too grand for your sensibilities. Very well, then. I shall end my counsel with this: do try not to frighten the poor girl with your stern looks and ponderous stares. Women prefer a man who smiles at them now and then.”
Finally, Fitzwilliam’s teasing expression softened, and he leaned forward, sincerity replacing his mirth. “In truth, well done, Cousin. You have chosen to pursue a lady of rare quality, and I wish you every happiness in the endeavour.”
Darcy inclined his head, his own smile small but genuine. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam. I shall remember your . . . advice.”
Fitzwilliam raised his glass with a flourish. “To your success, Darcy.”
Elizabeth lingered in the hall. The last of the guests had departed, and the cleaning had begun. The servants moved with cheerful efficiency as they cleared the remains of the festivities, the echoes of laughter and lively conversation seeming to hang in the air.
She could not sit idly while they worked. Picking up a tray, she began gathering glasses from a nearby table. Before she had managed more than a few, Mrs. Hill appeared, her expression kind but resolute.
“Do not trouble yourself, Miss Bennet,” Mrs. Hill said, deftly removing the tray from Elizabeth's hands. “This is no work for you.”
It was strange to hear the housekeeper call her Miss Bennet. “Very well, Mrs. Hill, I shall leave you all to it. Please thank everyone for their work today.”
She walked up to Jane’s chambers. How many girlish conferences had taken place in this room! How many secrets had been whispered in the quiet hours of the night, their heads bent close together as they shared their hopes and heartbreaks? It was quiet now, stripped of its warmth and familiarity, the bed neatly made, the desk and shelves empty, the door of the wardrobe hanging slightly ajar. Elizabeth’s heart ached with the knowledge that this space would never again be the same. Jane was not merely travelling to the Gardiners’ house or on a brief outing; she was gone to a new life, one in which Elizabeth would no longer have the same claim to her time or her thoughts. A hollow sense of loneliness settled over her, more poignant than she had expected. Jane had always been her compass, her steady and gentle guide, and now, her absence felt like a void no one else could fill.
It was ridiculous, of course. Jane would be three miles away, and although her priority must be her husband, they would still see one another very often. And it was not as though she had not had ample time to prepare for the separation.
No, Jane was happy. Elizabeth needed to turn her attention to her own life now.
At the moment, however, she did not know what to do. Mr. Darcy had asked to call on her, and she wanted to tell someone. Jane had always been her closest confidante and her most discreet, but Jane was not here. Nor were Uncle and Aunt Gardiner, who had been required to leave so they would reach Gracechurch Street before dark.
Mamma was in her chambers, no doubt exulting over Jane's triumph. Elizabeth hesitated before the door, then turned away. She had no wish to listen to her mother’s jubilant declarations, nor would her mother understand the warm but confused nature of her feelings for Mr. Darcy. She would scold Elizabeth about having any hesitation at all and insist that she do whatever she could to maintain Mr. Darcy’s interest.
Passing by Lydia’s room, she caught the sound of giggles and muffled chatter. Kitty and Lydia were sharing some trivial amusement about one or more of the men who had attended the breakfast. They were too young and silly to confide in—everyone from Longbourn to Meryton would know that Mr. Darcy was calling on her within a day’s time. She could not trust her heart to them.
She thought briefly of her father. He did not need to grant permission for a courtship, only approve a proposal. He might listen, though he would more likely tease her for rushing to inform him when nothing had been settled. Still, she found herself standing before the door to his book room. She raised her hand and knocked twice.
“Leave me, Hill,” Mr. Bennet’s voice called through the door. “I am not to be disturbed until dinner.”
Elizabeth hesitated. She could have spoken up, announced herself, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the certainty that her father, however well-meaning, would not take her news seriously. She turned away.
Her footsteps led her to the music room, where Mary was seated at the pianoforte, practising with studious intensity. Elizabeth paused in the doorway, reluctant to disturb her sister’s concentration. When the music stopped for more than a moment, she stepped inside.
“Mary,” she began.
Mary glanced up at her. “Elizabeth, unless there is an emergency, I am afraid I must ask that you wait. I have just begun this piece, and it requires all my attention.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Of course, Mary. Another time, then.”
Mr. Darcy had asked to call.
The idea filled her with a restless energy, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. She longed to share it with someone, but there was no one in her family who could stand in Jane’s place. Even Charlotte was gone to Kent.
It was foolish to feel alone in a house full of family, but she supposed it could not be helped. She finally retreated to her own chamber, sat at her desk, pulled out paper, a pen, and a bottle of ink. Aunt Gardiner would understand. If anyone could offer a sympathetic ear and wise counsel, it was she.
With a deep breath, Elizabeth began to write.
29 January 1812
Dear Aunt Gardiner,
I have only just bidden you farewell. I hope this letter finds you and Uncle Gardiner well, and that his brief absence from his business has not set him back. We were not even to have a complete conversation, were we? Well, allow me to remedy that with all the comments I would have made were the wedding breakfast not such a crush.
Jane was as lovely a bride as I think I shall ever see. Mr. Bingley scarcely took his eyes from her the entire day. I am convinced he is utterly besotted, and Jane was so happy. I know she will visit Gracechurch Street with her Mr. Bingley soon, and then you must report her happiness to me in detail.
After everyone returned to their homes, Mamma was forced to agree that Jane needed no extraordinary embellishment to be every inch the picture of refinement and beauty, though I suspect her approval stemmed more from the match than the gown.
The breakfast was much complimented by all, and deservedly so—Mamma outdid herself with her preparations, which were nothing short of splendid. Yet, once the guests departed and the house fell quiet, I felt Jane’s absence most keenly. I have already turned to speak to her more times than I care to admit, only to recall she no longer lives here. How strange it is to think of her as Mrs. Bingley!
Jane excels in everything she undertakes, of course, so I have no doubt she will master this new role as gracefully as she has every other. It seems I am the one left to gather my courage around me and face the future, undaunted.
Dear Aunt, I admit that there is more than one reason for this letter. I find myself in need of your advice. Oh, if I could only have spoken to you immediately afterward! There is a matter which I have not shared with anyone, and I feel you are the only one other than Jane who might understand.
Mr. Darcy has asked to call upon me. I am not sure how to describe the mix of emotions this has stirred within me. When I think of him, I recall both the proud man I first encountered and the more recent moments where his kindness and honour have shone through. He confounds me, Aunt, and yet I find myself drawn to him in a way I have never experienced with any other man.
Should I trust these feelings, when they are so new? You have often spoken of the importance of friendship and respect in marriage. I wonder if these sentiments are at the heart of what I feel, or if it is something more.
Please write soon and tell me your thoughts. I know I can rely on your wisdom, as I have so often before.
Your most affectionate niece,
Elizabeth
Elizabeth set down her pen and read over her words. She sanded the missive and, when the ink was dry, sealed it. For now, it would have to suffice as a substitute for the conversation she longed to have. She would send it out with the morning post.
The act of writing eased some of her more restless thoughts. Standing, she moved to the window and gazed out at the fading light of the day. Mr. Darcy was with his cousin and sister at Netherfield. Had he told them he had asked to call on her? Did they approve his choice? Was Mr. Darcy, even now, thinking of her? The thought sent a small thrill through her, tempered by a small, lingering uncertainty.
Still, Elizabeth allowed herself to smile. Perhaps she had more to look forward to than she had dared to believe.
Darcy handed his gloves to Mr. Hill before stepping into Longbourn's drawing room. Fitzwilliam and Georgiana followed closely behind, and he could hear the colonel muttering something humorous about bravery in the face of battle. Darcy ignored him, focusing instead on the task at hand. His purpose was clear. Court Elizabeth Bennet. Make her love him. Ask her to be his wife.
Not that he expected it to all happen today. One step at a time.
The drawing room was already bustling with Longbourn’s usual activity. Mrs. Bennet greeted them with effusive warmth, her joy at their arrival almost palpable. She was soon directing Georgiana to sit beside her while chattering about the Bingleys’ wedding. Fitzwilliam offered him a wry smile and settled into a chair where he could respond to Mrs. Bennet’s prattle with just enough interest to keep her talking without requiring much effort.
Fitzwilliam was an excellent cousin.
Darcy’s gaze, however, was soon fixed elsewhere. Elizabeth herself stood to greet him, her posture relaxed but her expression alert. Her gown of pale blue muslin was simple yet elegant, and her tentative smile drew him forward.
She had been looking out of the window when he arrived. Perhaps she would like a bit of time out of doors?
“Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice steady. “Good morning. It is a cold day, but would you be willing to walk with me in the garden?”
Her lips curved into a small, relieved smile. “Certainly, Mr. Darcy.”
“Oh no, Lizzy,” Miss Lydia complained. “I would not like to leave the fire.”
“We shall remain within sight of the window, Miss Lydia,” Mr. Darcy replied. “You need not venture out. Will that do, Mrs. Bennet?”
Mrs. Bennet waved them off, still chattering away about the wedding and the breakfast.
As they left, Darcy caught a brief glimpse of Georgiana moving to another chair nearer Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia to introduce a discussion about London’s latest fashions. Fitzwilliam, meanwhile, had leaned forward in his chair, listening intently to Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiastic account of the wedding breakfast and how her dear Jane and Mr. Bingley were the perfect match. He could hear someone playing the pianoforte in another room. Miss Mary, most likely.
Miss Bennet wrapped her cloak about her while he donned his greatcoat, and they stepped outside. Darcy drew a measured breath as they strolled along the garden path. There was very little to see this time of year, but it still felt better to be out of the crowded drawing room.
“Thank you,” Miss Bennet said, tipping her face up to the sky. “It was becoming quite warm in there.”
“You are welcome,” Darcy said, pleased with himself for judging her wishes correctly. “You have always struck me as someone who prefers fresh air and freedom to overcrowded rooms and . . .” He stopped himself before he said something rude. He closed his eyes. It had taken him precisely half a minute to nearly insult Miss Bennet.
She watched him carefully, a spark of amusement in her eyes. “An astute observation and a politic pause, Mr. Darcy.”
He allowed himself a small sigh of relief. “I do not know what it is about me, Miss Bennet. I find myself in the presence of a woman I wish to impress, and I proceed to do precisely the opposite. If I were a youth, perhaps there would be some excuse, but I am not.”
“I must be quite the formidable woman indeed, to inspire such nerves in a man of your years and stature.” She glanced at him, her eyes nearly twinkling. “I always knew the days after the wedding would be something of a trial, but truly, Mamma means well. It is only that she has at last achieved the first of what she hopes will be five successful matches.”
“Of course,” Darcy murmured, and Miss Elizabeth laughed quietly.
“My mother thrives wherever she can extol the virtues of her daughters and bask in the reflected glory of their success. You should have heard her before the wedding—though perhaps you are fortunate to have escaped that.”
“I am not entirely immune,” Darcy admitted, his smile broadening slightly. “She spent a considerable portion of the wedding breakfast informing me that you are an excellent walker.”
“Ah, so this invitation was meant to demonstrate to Mamma that you were listening?”
He shook his head. “Truthfully? I merely wished to have you to myself for a quarter of an hour before having to share your company.”
Miss Bennet blushed, and Darcy congratulated himself on at last saying something right.
She turned to continue walking, her voice tinged with playful scepticism. “That was rather a flattering statement. Should I fear the delivery of more such compliments?”
“I simply wish to express my gratitude for allowing me this opportunity to know you better. It is not something I take lightly.”
Miss Bennet regarded him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face. Then, to his relief, her lips curved into a genuine smile. “You are most welcome, Mr. Darcy. I find myself looking forward to knowing you better as well.”
It was not a declaration, nor even a promise, but a beginning. They continued their walk, the dormant winter garden all about them feeling only a prelude to spring.