3rd April 1812
Darcy put his quill down; his fingers drifted over the large ledger in front of him, closing it. His attempt to concentrate on his work was again frustrated by thoughts beyond his control.
“I cannot continue like that…” he whispered, looking down at his desk. The pile of papers and letters had only grown in the last few days.
There was a knock on the door.
“Excuse me, sir,” the butler said, entering his master’s study. “Your coffee, as requested.” Resting the tray on a side table, Osmond poured the fragrant infusion into a cup, added some milk and handed it to his master.
“Thank you, Osmond,” Darcy said, sipping from the cup, closing his eyes. At least his coffee was as it should be. The strong beverage was one of the few things helping him to continue with his work.
“I believe we have everything I need for my trip tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir. Everything is ready. You can leave at first light as requested.”
“Excellent, Osmond. Thank you again. That will be all.”
Darcy stood up and went to the window. The persistent rain of the last few days had left the streets of London empty; not even the crows had ventured out today. It was as if the quietude of the day was mocking his inability to work, forcing him to admit the real cause for it.
He should take some holidays and forget about estate responsibilities .
Darcy rubbed his forehead. The last thing he was going to do for the next two weeks was that. His aunt’s ledgers and tenants were always a steady source of headaches.
At least a change in scenery and Richard’s company should be enough to distract him from this inept state of mind.
He returned to the coffee pot and poured another cup.
How things had changed in his life in the last months.
Indeed, he no longer was the man he used to be — not after spending time in Meryton, where he had met the most intriguing and unsuitable of ladies. Not only her family was vulgar and inadequate for polite society, but she, Elizabeth Bennet, had dared to question his honour regarding that scoundrel Wickham. The mere memory of the Netherfield ball, and her angry eyes glaring at him were enough to make his blood boil.
He was Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley! Nobody questioned his honour!
With no control over them, Darcy’s memories dragged him again to Meryton, and the day after the ball — the last time he had seen her. Once again, he repeated to himself that their hasty departure had nothing to do with his infatuation for that lady. It had been just a genuine and selfish desire to support Bingley in his decision to leave the area.
Nothing more.
Yes, he had done that for Bingley.
While in Netherfield, Darcy thought that perhaps this time his friend had found someone who had truly touched his heart. Bingley seemed genuinely taken by the elder Bennet sister. But nothing had come of it. Darcy could not avoid worrying for his friend. It had been a trait in Bingley’s character to, first, frequently fall in and out of love, and, second, give too much consideration to his sisters’ opinions — especially those regarding their prospects in life. Darcy had tried to help his friend, encouraging him to stand for his decisions without interference from his sisters. But after a couple of days in London, Bingley had decided to give up Netherfield’s lease .
Miss Jane Bennet’s serene and pleasant countenance also came to his mind. She seemed pleased to receive Bingley’s attentions. And why would she not? Bingley, after all, despite his… well, non-confident, fickle nature, was a good catch. Was he not?
The thought brought a scowl to Darcy’s face.
Perhaps not. Bingley was still too immature to be married; and she, too kind and too sweet. Bingley and Miss Bennet would never match.
Perhaps it had been for the best.
But if Miss Bennet had indeed developed any attachment to his friend — as Darcy suspected to be the case — Miss Elizabeth would not be happy. She adored her sister.
Darcy exhaled loudly. He poured himself another cup of coffee, but to his disappointment, the liquid was already lukewarm. He put the cup down and went back to the window.
If he was to be honest, he remembered that time in Meryton as one of the most exciting in his life. He had travelled through the Continent a couple of times, seeing amazing places and meeting all kinds of people. Nevertheless, there was nobody quite like her. She was intriguing, challenging, handsome. Her fine eyes, her lips…
He growled and quickly opened the window, allowing the fresh breeze of the morning to hit his flushed body.
He should stop thinking about her.
Fortunately, he had something to distract himself — the preparations for his annual visit to his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
The best thing he could do at the moment was to concentrate on that — and forget about Elizabeth Bennet.
Yes. He was going to make a great effort and enjoy his day in the best way possible. Rain and drizzle could go hang. A walk in the muddy park would be a good start.
~ ? ~
Elizabeth jumped from her bed and ran to the window, only to growl in frustration. It was another rainy day. For how long had it been raining? Weeks? Months? If the answer depended on her mood, it surely had been raining for years!
Yesterday, she had attempted to distract herself by packing her things for the journey ahead, to see her dear friend, Charlotte. But even that had failed.
She shut her eyes and sighed, wishing for some changes. When she reopened them, nothing had happened. It was as if a storm had devastated her bedchamber. At her feet, the almost empty trunk lay beside many pieces of clothing and ladies’ accessories. Dresses and gowns, bonnets and shawls, stockings and shoes — all were spread everywhere on the bed and on the floor. On her desk, a pile of books waited to be chosen and included in her luggage.
Restless, Elizabeth walked around her room like a caged animal. “Why can I not forget it and move on? Why?” she mumbled, raising her hands in the air.
The last four months had been quite trying for the Bennet family; so many hopes and laughter, and then, so much disappointment and tears. She had been concerned about Jane — or, so she preferred to think. Her beloved sister had suffered an undeserved disappointment when that man — Mr Bingley — had left Netherfield with his party the very next day after the ball, with no intention of coming back.
At first, Mr Bingley had been very attentive to Jane, raising everybody’s hopes. But that had not lasted. Despite his initial attentions towards Jane, he had left the neighbourhood without even saying his goodbye. Just a short letter from Miss Bingley had explained his decision.
How wrong Elizabeth had been.
She lowered her eyes and fetched the golden ribbon she had used at the Netherfield ball. Guilt crushed her heart. What had she done to her sister, encouraging her in that way?
Elizabeth looked through the window again. The crystal drops of rain trickling down the panes reminded her of a solitary tear dropping from Jane’s eyes. Jane had raised her hand and dried it, saying she would be fine. Elizabeth had tried to comfort her sister, saying she would find a much better and more honourable man. Jane had just smiled.
At first, Elizabeth’s concerns for Jane had obfuscated another, much deeper, reason for sadness. As Jane’s melancholy slowly turned into resignation, Elizabeth still found herself upset and dreary. But she knew the reasons for it. Her own forlorn mood was not entirely caused by Mr Bingley’s rejection of her sister. The silk texture of that ribbon on her fingers reminded her of his soft touch on her hands while they had danced...
Mr Darcy.
She shook her head, resuming her pacing up and down the room. “Hateful man! So arrogant and self-confident, believing himself to be above other people. I would not be surprised if he was in some way involved in Mr Bingley’s decision to leave Netherfield. How could he consider himself a gentleman, meddling in people’s lives like that?”
Rubbing her forehead, she collapsed on her bed, bringing her chin to her knees. It was disconcerting to realise that, amongst all the men of her acquaintance, the enigmatic Mr Darcy was the most handsome and intelligent one. He had something that had made him stand out among the other men. He was not just handsome and intelligent — she forced herself to admit — he was also well read, and open to debates and different opinions. Moreover, she could not stop believing that he, in some way, had even provoked her into discussion for the simple pleasure of seeing her debating with him.
But what infuriated her the most was his contradictory nature. In some bizarre way, she could see goodness in him and, at times, even consider him a pleasant companion. If it were not for his selfish behaviour, arrogance and pride, not to mention his disregard and even disdain for the feelings of others, she could almost feel attracted to him.
Vexing man!
“But what does it serve me to think about all those things now? They are gone and probably I will never see him again. ”
The sudden melancholy did not surprise her. Would this feeling ever go away?
“Well,” she said standing up in front of her mirror. “You are not made to dwell on unpleasant memories, young lady. Your family has endured the last months and will continue to do so. For now, you will concentrate on finishing your packing and looking forward to your visit to dear Charlotte.”
Another look through the window showed that the rain seemed to be finally ceasing. “What I would not give to be allowed to run in that mud again.”
Some cheerful memories of her childhood resurfaced. A tentative smile reached Elizabeth’s lips when she remembered the way Charlotte was always scolding her for her lack of femininity and unladylike behaviour. Had her interests in female affairs been a little greater than completely non-existent, she would not have spent her childhood years running in the rain, climbing trees, swimming in the lake — and fencing or hunting.
She surely could blame her father for her boyish behaviour. Missing the presence of a male in the house, Mr Bennet had found in Elizabeth his perfect companion. She was not like the other girls; she had enjoyed playing games with her father as if she was a boy. Yet, he never allowed her to wear breeches — at least, not without wearing her dress on top. They could spend hours discussing British Naval history, literature, French, and that would not have been so unacceptable had her father not also introduced her to fencing and hunting with real weapons. Her mother would suffer an apoplectic attack had she so much as suspected that such activities were taking place under her very nose.
Elizabeth’s musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. A maid peeked her head inside her room. “Miss, your father requests your presence in his study.”
“Thank you, Sarah,” Elizabeth replied, grateful for the reprieve.
Downstairs, she knocked at her father’s study door and entered.
Mr Bennet, who was reading the newspaper with a rather stern expression, startled by her entrance and put the paper down .
Elizabeth turned her head and read the newspaper headlines.
“Another lady is missing in London. Again, family and authorities discarded the possibility of an elopement and the case is being regarded as another heinous crime...”
“Ah, Lizzy,” Mr Bennet said, folding the paper as he noticed her eyes on it. “Are you too busy? I know you must be very… well, engaged preparing your things. But considering you are going to stay away for the next six weeks, would you care…” — he lowered his voice and looked over her shoulder at the door — “…to join me in our little ‘training’?”
At his invitation, Elizabeth forgot about everything else. “Thank you, Papa. I would like it very much,” she whispered merrily.
Half an hour later, they were in the old barn used to house the cattle in wintertime.
“Lizzy,” Mr Bennet said, his hands on her shoulders. “As an old man, I think it does not benefit you to keep fencing only with me, especially after what has happened to my leg.” He was referring to the accident he had had some years ago. He paused, considering that now he had some other concerns for his daughters, especially after following the news about the missing ladies. “So today I have invited one of your old friends to join us. Mr Lucas?” he called, turning from Elizabeth. “Would you mind joining us?”
A young man in his mid-twenties stepped out from behind a large pile of hay and approached father and daughter with a shy smile.
“Papa! I thought it was supposed to be our secret. How could you ask John to join us?”
Mr Bennet smiled. “Ah! I can understand your concern, Lizzy. But it should be enough to say I caught Mr Lucas here kissing your sister Kitty in this very place some days ago. He asked for her hand, as it should be expected, professing his love for her, but also begging me not to tell his father. Until their engagement can be announced, I proposed to exchange one favour for another — or rather, one secret for another.” Mr Bennet chuckled at his own wit, then sobered. “I know he is a worthy opponent. It will do you good to train with someone younger, stronger and with better techniques than I can ever teach you.”
John Lucas, Charlotte’s youngest brother — who had perfected his skills as a swordsman at Cambridge, one of the best centres in the country in that sport — had recently finished his studies and returned home to help with his father’s political career. After Sir William’s knighthood, his business had been prospering, and his son would make an invaluable contribution to his works.
Elizabeth’s gaze rested on her future brother-in-law with warm affection. “Well, John, it seems like your secret has at last been discovered,” Elizabeth said, turning her smile to her frowning father. “But is my secret safe with you?”
They both smiled — John in a nervous way. He had been nurturing a secret love for Catherine since before he had left for university, promising her he would come back and marry her.
“I can guarantee it is, Lizzy. Now,” John quickly said, rubbing his hands, and before Mr Bennet could make further enquiries about the meaning of her mischievous words, he added, “show me what you can do. I confess to being surprised when Mr Bennet told me you were an excellent swordsman… um, well, swordswoman? Is there such a word?”
Elizabeth laughed, rearranging her clothes. She was wearing an old-fashioned riding attire not well adjusted to fit her now womanly frame. Her auburn hair was braided and pinned up in a single bun; not very fashionable, but much more efficient.
“I do not think so, John. But it does not matter, does it?” Elizabeth said, fetching her sword, an old sabre. She moved it in the air, testing its weight and balance, nodding towards John in approval. “What really matters is what I can do with a sword.”
They positioned themselves, and John indicated that she should be the one to start.
As the attacks and defences progressed, so did the complexity of their moves. John was fascinated by Elizabeth’s skills and decided to try something more audacious. Once or twice, she was taken by surprise when John stopped his sword just under her chin, or in the middle of her chest. They paused for a short time, just long enough for him to explain to her how to attack in the same way. She was delighted. A quarter of an hour later, Elizabeth had managed to imitate his moves. An hour later, she could attack and defend almost as well as he could.
“You are a fast learner, Lizzy,” John said still panting when their training ended. “I hope never to be a real enemy for you. I assure you that any man who underestimates your abilities will be sadly surprised.”
Exhausted and absolutely joyous, she thanked him, and they left.
Back home, a spent Elizabeth, ironically, found the energy to finish her packing. And when that arduous task was at last accomplished, she sat on her bed and thought about the weeks to come.