Page 24 of To India with Mr. Darcy

A few days later, Elizabeth escaped the noise and bustle of the house by taking a walk through the fields surrounding Meryton. She wanted to clear her head and forget about all the gossip. She pretended it didn’t matter to her, but of course it did. How could it not? She was only glad that the rumours were about her and not poor Jane, who would never have the countenance to withstand it.

Now, she looked up and realised she had walked far further than she’d intended. The path that led from Longbourn had a habit of luring her onward, past the orchard, then the stream, and finally to the winding lane that skirted the edge of the neighbouring estate. She had meant only to stretch her legs, but now the hem of her dress was heavy with dew and her boots were caked in the fine, sticky mud of early spring. She smiled when she looked down at the mess she’d made of herself. Her mother would be most disapproving when she returned home.

She slowed as she rounded the bend near the old stone wall. The path narrowed, flanked on one side by a tall hedge and on the other by a low wall draped in ivy. It was peaceful and still, one of her favourite places to come and sit, to reflect. It was the kind of quiet that seemed to hush the mind, and it was rarely frequented by anyone else.

That was why she was so surprised when she saw him—that and the fact that he’d told her was leaving.

Mr Darcy.

Curious.

He was a little way ahead, half turned from the path, as though studying the land beyond the wall. His hat was in his hand, his dark hair tousled more than usual by the breeze. At first, he didn’t notice her, and Elizabeth stopped walking. She smiled to watch him, a sense of warmth spreading through her.

And then she frowned, confused. He’d said he was leaving. She’d accepted that, said goodbye. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of Hertfordshire as though he belonged to it. As though he’d never had any intention of leaving in the first place.

Even more curious.

Mr Darcy turned then, sensing her presence perhaps, or simply hearing the soft crunch of leaves and twigs beneath her boots. His eyes found hers, and she was certain she saw them lightening, as if he were pleased to see her. That in itself made her smile. He’d turned out to be not so foolish after all, and she was pleased that he was pleased to see her.

Elizabeth hesitated, her eyes locked on his, a touch too far to speak but close enough to feel the other’s presence. She could have turned away, pretended not to see him, retreated with dignity. But something in her refused, some secret part of her that would never admit how happy she was to see him on this path. She lifted her chin and continued walking, her gait determined, until they stood only a few feet apart.

“Good afternoon, Mr Darcy,” she said politely.

“Miss Bennet.” He gave a short bow, then cleared his throat as he was wont to do. “I had not expected to meet you here.”

“I might say the same,” Elizabeth replied, folding her hands before her. “I thought you had left for Pemberley.”

He looked momentarily caught off guard, uncertain how to respond. She tilted her head, waited for his reply. “I had intended to. Yes,” he said simply.

She waited for some further explanation but when nothing else came, she raised her eyebrows with mild amusement. “And yet, here you are.”

He shifted, clearing his throat. “Something… an errand… an unavoidable situation came up.”

Elizabeth suppressed a laugh. “How very mysterious.”

He glanced away, his cheeks a shade pinker than they had been a moment ago. “A minor delay. Nothing of note.”

“I see,” she said. “How very fortunate, for me, at least. Otherwise, I might never have had the chance to walk this way and find it so curiously occupied.”

He looked at her then, properly, and whatever fluster had touched him seemed to melt into a quiet confidence, as if she gave him a secret strength. “I am glad of the delay also,” he said. “Whatever its cause.”

Elizabeth didn’t look away. The breeze stirred between them, pulling loose strands of hair across her cheek. She let them be.

They stood for a moment in the hush of the lane, the air full of emotion. Then, almost shyly, Mr Darcy said, “You seem well.”

“As do you,” Elizabeth replied, and then, with a little arch of her brow, she said, “though perhaps less sunburnt than last I saw you.”

His mouth quirked. “A kindness of the English climate.”

“I suppose it’s easier to look one’s usual shade when one is not crossing oceans.”

There was a pause, a shared amusement dancing between them, and Elizabeth realised that this was one thing she would always share with him—and would never share with another. It was uniquely, distinctly, theirs.

“Do you miss it?” he asked.

Elizabeth blinked at the question, unexpected as it was. “The ship?”

He nodded.

“Sometimes, yes. Perhaps not as much as I thought I would—family has a way of doing that, does it not? But sometimes. I miss the endless stretch of sky and the way the sails filled up with wind. And there was that peculiar sense that time had stopped and the rest of the world no longer applied.” She glanced at him. “And you? Do you miss it?”

He gave a quiet hum. “I find the ground somewhat suspicious these days. It stays very still, and I find I do not trust it.”

That earned a genuine laugh from her, light and surprised. She’d forgotten how much she’d enjoyed his wit.

“Indeed,” he continued, buoyed by her response. “I woke two nights ago convinced the room was pitching sideways. I had to sit up and remind myself that the mattress was not going to slide across the floor.”

Elizabeth smiled, tucking her hands behind her back as they began to walk side by side, as if they were still upon that deck in the sunshine. “There’s something strange about re-entering the world when one has been away, isn’t there? One might imagine that the time away would make everything sweeter, but instead it all seems oddly faded.”

He glanced sideways at her. “Yes,” he said. “Exactly that. The world continued as if we had never left, but I’d somehow supposed I would come back to find it stopped, waiting for our return.”

They walked a few more steps in silence, but it was no longer the hesitant quiet of strangers or adversaries. It was something companionable, curious, perhaps even hopeful. Elizabeth realised how she’d missed their quiet companionship.

She turned her face to the breeze, breathing in the English air. “I suppose it will pass.”

“I rather hope not,” Mr Darcy said quietly.

She looked at him, startled.

“I mean,” he amended quickly, flustered, “I hope not all of it passes. Some things I would like to keep.”

Their eyes met again, and the silence returned as they shared a moment of stillness. Elizabeth felt something strange and giddy uncurl in her chest, something she was certain she’d never felt before.

She smiled—small, but genuine. “So would I.”

He nodded, then said, “Well, I suppose I ought to get going. It was lovely to see you again, Miss Bennet.”

“And you, Mr Darcy,” she said, already wishing he had not left. “Take care of yourself.”

Elizabeth made her way home, her mind at rest finally. She was still smiling to herself as she passed through the gate into the garden and up the front steps of Longbourn. Her walk had gone longer than expected, but it had been revitalising indeed.

Thanks to Mr Darcy.

The moment the front door swung open, however, she was met with a wave of sound that banished any trace of quiet reflection. Laughter, shrieks, the unmistakable crash of a teacup against a saucer. None of it was out of the ordinary for Longbourn, of course, and yet somehow it felt heightened, electrified. There was something going on.

She had barely stepped inside when Kitty flew past her, nearly knocking over a side table in the process.

“Lizzie!” she cried. “You missed everything!”

“Missed what?” Elizabeth asked, unwinding her shawl with cautious amusement. “Has Lydia set something on fire again?”

“No! Better!” Kitty twirled dramatically in place. “Mr Bingley was here! And—oh! Mama will tell you everything.”

“I’m sure she will,” Elizabeth replied, eyebrows raised.

She stepped into the parlour to find it in complete disarray. Mary sat stiff-backed in a corner chair, attempting to read but clearly failing, given the noise. Lydia was bouncing up and down on the sofa cushions like a child half her age. Jane stood near the fireplace, blushing furiously while Mrs Bennet fluttered about her like a butterfly with a tray of teacups in peril.

“Lizzie!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, spotting her at once. “There you are, you dreadful child, where have you been?”

“Walking,” Elizabeth said slowly. “What on earth is going on?”

Mrs Bennet nearly dropped the tray in her excitement. “He has proposed!”

Elizabeth blinked, trying—and failing—to take it all in. “Who has?”

“Mr Bingley, of course!” cried Lydia, throwing a cushion into the air and catching it with a flourish.

Jane’s blush deepened. “Lydia, please.”

“Oh, never mind modesty now, Jane,” Mrs Bennet said, waving her hand. “We are to have a wedding! A wedding, Lizzie! Can you believe it? And not just any wedding. Mr Bingley is everything we ever hoped for. Handsome, charming, quite rich. What more could we ever ask for our darling Jane?”

Elizabeth’s gaze flew to her sister. “Jane?”

Jane’s eyes were wide and glowing, and Elizabeth could see the depth of her happiness. “He came this morning,” she said. “He asked to speak with Papa. Then he asked to speak with me.”

“And?” Elizabeth stepped forward, heart pounding.

“And he apologised. For everything. For the silence, for the distance. He said he had never stopped thinking of me. That he was mistaken, but he had come to his senses. Seen the truth.”

Warmth flooded Elizabeth’s chest, so happy she was for her sister. “And you said yes.”

It wasn’t a question, for Jane’s smile was answer enough.

“Oh, Jane.” Elizabeth pulled her sister into a tight embrace. “I am so happy for you.”

“And so am I!” Mrs Bennet declared, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Three daughters married by Michaelmas, I said, and now we shall be nearly there!”

“No one else is engaged, Mama,” Mary said flatly.

“Yet!” cried Mrs Bennet. “But where there is one wedding, there are often more. Such joy is contagious! And now we must write to the Gardiners, and the Lucases, and of course the milliner must be consulted immediately. Jane must have something elegant, something that speaks of refinement and taste. Nothing too fashionable, of course, but still worthy of a future mistress of Netherfield!”

Jane laughed softly, the sound full of quiet wonder.

Elizabeth stepped back, taking in the whole scene—the bustle, the exclamations, the laughter—and allowed herself to be caught in the current. She had dreamed of this day for Jane, had feared it might never come. And now, to see her sister radiant with happiness, it was enough.

“Well,” she said, her smile widening. “I suppose we had better start planning a wedding.”

“Oh, there will be time enough for that,” said Mrs Bennet, “once we have told everyone in Hertfordshire! Lydia, fetch me my bonnet at once!”

***

That night, long after the house had settled into sleep, Elizabeth tapped softly on Jane’s door. A candle flickered gently in her hand as she stepped inside. Jane was sitting up in bed, her hair loose over her shoulders, a book resting forgotten in her lap. She looked up at once, her eyes still shining with that new, quiet kind of joy that no one could mistake.

Elizabeth crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “Too much excitement, I suppose.”

Jane smiled and set the book aside. “Me neither. Though I’ve been trying.”

Elizabeth reached for her sister’s hand and squeezed it. “I wanted to say congratulations again. Properly, this time. Without the screeching of our sisters.”

Jane’s expression softened. “Thank you. I still cannot quite believe it.”

“I can. You deserve every bit of happiness.”

There was a pause, soft and companionable, before Jane spoke again. “And what of you, Lizzie?”

Elizabeth looked down, tracing the edge of the blanket. “What of me?”

Jane tilted her head. “Mr Darcy?”

Elizabeth gave a small, amused huff. “There’s nothing to tell. I’ve told you time and again. He was companionable enough on the ship, but that is all it ever was.”

“But you saw him today,” Jane said, and when Elizabeth looked surprised, Jane laughed. “It was hard not to guess from the smile you wore when you returned.”

Elizabeth tried to hide her smile but couldn’t. “Yes, by chance, it’s true. We spoke. It was pleasant.”

“And?”

Jane looked so hopeful that it was almost a cruelty to tell her the truth. But Elizabeth did.

“And,” she said, a little more firmly, “there is nothing between us. There never was, really. It was a strange sort of acquaintance. A storm-tossed friendship, perhaps. But nothing more.”

Jane studied her quietly. “You may believe that, Lizzie. But I think there was something more, at least for a time.”

Elizabeth swallowed. “If there was, it came and went like the tide.”

Jane didn’t press her. She only reached out and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand again. “Then I am sorry for whatever hurt it left behind.”

Elizabeth’s smile was tight, but sincere. “It’s nothing. Truly. You’re engaged, Jane. That is more than enough joy for both of us.”