9th April 1816
Darcy woke up early again, but this time daylight found a smile on his lips.
During that week, he and Richard had been quite busy with their obligations to their aunt’s estate, but Darcy had made an effort to enjoy his time. In particular, on his morning walks with Miss Elizabeth, when they had, inadvertently — he chuckled at the use of that word — found each other on one of the many paths around the estate.
Perhaps the first one had indeed been accidental, but not the second, or the third, or the fourth. Unfortunately, in none of those meetings were they alone, as Mrs Collins was always there. Darcy concluded that, after their first awkward conversation a week ago, Mrs Collins, as an old friend and Elizabeth’s chaperone, felt responsible for her reputation — and her loose tongue. Mrs Collins, like Richard, seemed to have a very sharp mind.
He looked at the clock on the mantel. Ten past six. It was still a little early to find Elizabeth, so he decided to ride for a while.
In a swift movement, Darcy left his bed and rang the bell for Wilfred. Once he was shaved and dressed in his best riding attire, he left. On his way out, he stopped at the kitchen, greeted the servants, enjoyed a good cup of coffee and took two slices of fresh bread with butter and strawberry jam to eat on his way out.
Whistling an old tune, he approached the stables and asked for a horse, and smiled again.
“…think about you and the gift of being genuinely happy with a wife you can admire, and love .”
Darcy had not gone that far — yet. His main intention at the moment was to clarify her misunderstandings about his character.
Nothing more.
Well…
Perhaps that was not entirely true. Richard’s words kept echoing in his mind, his heart always skipping a beat.
Could it be possible?
He marrying Elizabeth?
As Darcy lost himself in that strange and conflicting contentment, prompting his horse into a gentle canter, he became aware of something he had never noticed before; Rosings Park was indeed a beautiful place. Far away from the great manor, where the surroundings had been artificially modified accordingly to his aunt’s particular taste, the beauty of the green meadows, spotted with different dots, were a feast for the eyes. Daffodils, dandelions and delicate primroses, daisies and violets covered the land up to where the horizon touched the sky.
Damned his perceptive cousin!
The sight of a pink silhouette wavering in the distance brought Darcy’s heart to a frenetic rhythm. He slowed his horse to a trot and drew closer.
Yes, it was her, her back turned to him. He looked around, searching for Mrs Collins, but did not find her. Was Elizabeth alone?
Darcy brought his horse to a halt, cogitating whether he should go and talk to her. After their reencounter a week ago, and despite his many struggles, he found himself enslaved by thoughts of her, of how it would be having her as his wife, mistress of Pemberley, having the right to hold her in his arms; kiss her…
He stopped his thoughts before they could go too far.
He could not deny it; he was infatuated with Elizabeth. He had tried, and failed, to forget her. It did not mean, however, that he could easily forget his obligations to his name, or to his family, or her family circumstances. Even if he had the opportunity to explain what happened between him and Wickham, her family would still remain the same.
It would not do. Perhaps it had been for better their separation. During that time, he had been able to see things more clearly. Infatuated or not, her family was still a great disappointment. Despite coming from a traditional family from Hertfordshire, the Bennets had no important connections in the ton. But above all, the mother and the two younger sisters were too vulgar. It would be a nightmare to receive such a family in his townhouse. He began to imagine the reaction of his uncle, Lord Matlock, or even Lady Catherine, sharing refreshments in the drawing room with the boisterous Mrs Bennet and Miss Lydia.
Doubts. Doubts!
Darcy groaned, turning his horse to leave, shaking his head remembering his ungenerous thoughts about Bingley and his fickle nature. As it seemed, he was not much better after all. But unlike Bingley, he had his position in life to consider. In his case, the dismissal of an unsuitable spouse was not just reasonable; it was necessary. He would—
“Mr Darcy!” Elizabeth called out. “You have not yet dismounted and are already leaving? I hope you are not afraid of me.”
He looked back at her and frowned.
The minx!
Elizabeth had been standing at her easel, painting, when she heard a horse approaching. And there he was. Shoulders stiffened; lips and brows pressed together. But then, he was turning as if to go away. Before she knew what she was doing, she had shouted the challenging words, and his frown had only deepened.
A wave of heat rose from her stomach blushing all the way up to the roots of her hair, creating a huge blur of red. Too embarrassed for her own good, she returned to the painting and pretended to resume her work.
Darcy took a couple of deep breaths. She had shouted to him — challenged him. Why should she be so infuriatingly… enticing? Her impertinence and spontaneity, despite being considered unfitting for a lady, we re strangely invigorating to him.
“I would say, sir, your hypothesis that women are not as intelligent as men — and for this reason we do not have many famous women in history — can be also used in the opposite way. Famous men are usually associated with war, destruction and death: Alexander the Great, Nero and Napoleon for instance… Is that what you are calling intellectual superiority?”
Yes, that discussion in Bingley’s library had been… enlightening. Miss Elizabeth, despite not coming from a fancy family of the ton, was surprisingly well educated and had no intention of keeping quiet. And yet, Darcy could not find fault in this. In fact, it was one of the things he really admired about her. His wealth had no consequence to her. Their verbal fencing had always been annoyingly refreshing, and that one, on the very first day, had not disappointed. It almost caused him to break out in a sweat.
He could only be truly mad. And then he smiled, looking back at the meadows.
Spring and daffodils .
Darcy dismounted, and as if working on their own volition, his feet took him to the lady who had disturbed his perfect life. He always had everything under control: finances, properties, schedule and thoughts.
Until her.
After meeting her, he had not been able to sleep well, and even his ledgers and estate affairs had become boring. His whole life had become dull and… monochromatic.
Elizabeth looked at him over her shoulder. Her bright eyes met his and Darcy stopped, mesmerised by the sight in front of him. His heart raced wildly against his chest, and his whole body came alive. He swallowed hard a couple of times, and, all of a sudden, his cravat seemed tighter than usual. He fought back the urge to loosen it as his eyes perused every detail of her.
She was so full of life; so full of colour. The beauty of her long and dishevelled auburn tresses, dancing at the sunlight and falling over her shoulders and back, framed the modest décolletage of her pink dress; creamy milk skin contrasted with her honey-coloured eyes, rosy cheeks and heavenly strawberry-like lips, making him dizzy; all that covered in bewitching light dusting freckles, giving her heart shaped face its final touch. He never thought freckles could be so enchanting.
Delectable.
He balled his fists to fight the urge to touch her face and feel if under those freckles her skin was as soft as it looked.
God! He was in real trouble!
Noticing his reaction and silent staring, Elizabeth blushed all over again. She had shouted at him. What kind of lady does such a thing? She was almost behaving like her younger sister.
A quick breeze made one of her tresses tickle her nose. Lifting her hand, she noticed with some despair that her hair had escaped their pins, and she was not wearing her bonnet — as if she needed another reason to raise his censure.
Taking her eyes from him, she started looking around for the incriminating accessory.
Her brisk movements broke the spell over Darcy and following her eyes, he realised she had misunderstood his silence. Coming closer, he extended his hand and held her by the arm, stopping her before she could reach for her bonnet. “No, please.”
“I am sorry about my untidy appearance, Mr Darcy.” She lowered her eyes. “I was not expecting anyone venturing these parts of the meadow so early.”
Well, she was not expecting. Just hoping.
Clumsily, and suddenly shy, Elizabeth cursed that traitor thought and began rearranging her hair and brushing off the small pieces of grass attached to her dress, hoping there were not any blots of ink on her face.
“I am the one who should be sorry,” Darcy said hoarsely, releasing her arm. “I became… distracted by the astonishing sight of…” your beauty , “the flowers. You do not need to wear your bonnet on my account. I would not suspend any pleasure of yours. ”
She smiled, amused by his choice of words. It seemed Mr Darcy was not so disagreeable as she had been inclined to believe. “Oh, do not apologise, sir. In fact, I am happy you are here—”
As soon as the words left her lips, her smile faded, a sad memory spoiling her contentment. Not only his harsh words about her not being handsome enough to tempt him, but also his judging eyes after that, especially on her mother and Lydia. If Mr Darcy could be so judgemental, cold even, then the way he had treated Mr Wickham was just the consequence of it. How could she enjoy the company of such a man?
She looked at him, and there he was. Frowning and staring at her. “I… mean,” she added, turning away from him. “I am happy you are her to… um, enjoy the flowers. They are indeed beautiful.”
She sighed. Why should life be like this? While Mr Darcy had been distracted observing ‘the flowers’, she had the opportunity to observe him. She blushed at her unladylike thoughts about his dashing figure, and what she would not give to be able to marry a man like him. His dark curly hair, hidden under his hat, prolonged in enticing sideburns, framed his well-shaved and strong jawline and neck. He was tall, and due to the perfect cut of his riding attire, she could see he had a slim but strong frame. But it was his eyes — dark and penetrating — that could really unsettle her. And to make things even worse, beneath that enchanting cover there was an intelligent and perceptive man.
What could be more infuriating than a handsome and secretive man? And, which man was the real Mr Darcy? The insensitive and proud man she saw at those first and last balls, or the gentle and clever one she had been meeting this last week?
“Good morning,” Darcy suddenly said, his expression softening into a smile.
Elizabeth startled, forgetting her musings. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said good morning, Miss Elizabeth. I just realised I had not greeted you properly when I arrived.” He also suspected that her sudden silence could be related to his staring at her and tried to remedy it.
His smile disarmed her. She bit her lips, raising one eyebrow, somehow, forgetting all about her displeasure. “Well, good morning to you too, sir. Are you enjoying your stay this time?”
Something was happening to him, and with an unexpected move, he took a step closer to her and then stopped. Stiffening his back and holding his hands behind him, he averted his eyes from her lips before his escalating need propelled him to take her in his arms and kiss her senselessly.
“Indeed, Miss Elizabeth, much better,” Darcy replied, turning from her. He cleared his throat. “Are you unaccompanied today?”
“Yes, I am,” she replied, oblivious to his struggles. “Charlotte and Maria went to town to buy some supplies with Mr Collins, but I begged them to leave me behind. I could not waste such a beautiful day inside a carriage.”
“I see,” Darcy said, feeling his heart skipping a couple of beats —again. He could not trust himself to be alone with Elizabeth. He respected her too much to take any liberty, but he could not vouch for his words — and he was only one step away from saying something he certainly would come to regret. “Well, I did not mean to interrupt your enjoyment. I bid you a good day.”
With that, he fled from her.
“Mr Darcy,” she called, the words escaping from her mouth. “Before you go, do you mind, um… holding my easel? I need to fetch more water, but as this painting is still fresh, I am afraid it would be ruined if the wind turns it.”
He looked down at the easel. For the first time since his arrival, he noticed what she had been doing. “You are painting a watercolour?”
“Surprised, sir? I know I am not exactly the epitome of accomplishment, but indeed I can paint watercolours, and the better part is that I really enjoy it. It is not like embroidering countless handkerchiefs. Do you know how many handkerchiefs I have with my initials?”
Elizabeth noticed his stare again and tightened her lips. “There is a small brook just behind those trees, I will not be long,” she said, running away before he had the chance to answer. “Thank you,” she shouted from afar.
Darcy grinned, forcing his eyes to turn from her running figure to examine her painting more carefully. He was not an expert, but he thought her work was very good. He looked around, and then back to the painting. She had captured the real colours of that beautiful meadow with a surprising accuracy. The explosion of colours on her canvas was just like her. The position of the sun was also—
A high-pitched scream reached his ears.
A rush of blood ran through Darcy’s veins, and forgetting her painting, he ran to where the sound came from.
“Elizabeth!” Darcy shouted after passing the first line of trees. He felt ridiculous worrying so much about her just because of a scream. But he could not help himself. “Elizabeth! Where are you?”
“Mr Darcy! Over here…”
Darcy followed her weak voice, his concern mounting. Why was her voice weak?
He caught sight of her pink form beside the brook and ran towards her, halting at the sight before him.
~ ? ~
When Elizabeth decided to fetch some water, she did not expect the softness of the ground around the brook would be the cause of an enormous humiliation. She had done this before on previous occasions, but in none of them had she been daydreaming about Mr Darcy. While fetching the water, she had stepped into the mud and continued there until her feet were so deep that, in her careless attempt to free herself, she had lost her balance, falling on the muddy edge, sinking her posterior deeper into the mud with a very unladylike shriek.
Soon after, a familiar voice reached her ears, and she rolled her eyes. Mr Darcy . If someone was supposed to see her in such a state, it had to be him .
Hearing his anxious calling, she blushed once more, her cheeks burning like two ripe apples in the oven. “Mr Darcy, over here,” she called back without much conviction, lowering her head, almost hoping he would not hear her.
Why did she have to scream? Why not just fall in silence?
She tightened her fists feeling the soft mud squeezing through her fingers as the growing sound of his boots against the ground became louder and louder.
Then it stopped.
Elizabeth slowly raised her eyes.
There, in front of her, a panting Mr Darcy with hands on his knees, stood staring at her.
Sticking up her chin, she glared at him, challenging him to make a clever comment.
To his credit, he did not. But by the way he was pressing his lips together, it would be just a matter of time.
“Miss Elizabeth, are you well? What happened?”
“I fell,” she said, moving some hair hanging in front of her eyes to behind her ear, leaving a trail of mud across her forehead.
Darcy’s gentlemanlike manners were thus short lived; he pressed his lips together again, but to no avail. A strange, snorting noise escaped his nose, followed by a loud laugh as his head went backwards.
Her jaw fell and she huffed, furious. How could a gentleman behave so shamefully?
As if hearing her thoughts, Darcy brought both hands to his face and pressed his eyes, inhaling deeply a couple of times. “I am very, very sorry, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, making a phenomenal effort to stop his laugher. “Here.” Darcy removed his glove and stretched his arm. “Take my hand and let me help you.”
She lowered her eyes from his amused face to his bare hand, and stubbornly shook her head. “No, sir. I am not sure you will be able to pull me out. I am quite stuck here—”
“Nonsense,” he interrupted, now just smiling. “I am much stronger than you. Here, please, take my hand.”
Elizabeth bit her lower lip. It was not as if she had any other choice. She sighed, awkwardly standing up and wiping her hand on her already ruined dress.
Darcy took her hand firmly and pulled.
On his third attempt, she made a strange noise, and he raised his gaze to her face. She was laughing. He smiled at her amusement, and the unimaginable happened. One of his feet slipped behind him. He lost his balance and wobbled. Elizabeth screamed again as he finally tumbled, hauling her with him into the mud with a loud splosh .
Good Lord!
It took them some seconds to realise what had happened. Darcy’s left side was deep in the mud. On his face and hair, splashes of mud were trickling down; his expensive coat, breeches and snow-white cravat were covered with the smelly, brownish mixture of earth and water.
From below him, a warm breath tickled his face. He turned and found a muddy, enchanting Elizabeth lying partially beneath him. Her widened eyes and agape mouth were inches away from his own.
He froze, holding his breath.
Her mouth closed and then curved; her eyes narrowed. With no warning, she puffed and started laughing; a sound he had never heard before. He raised both his eyebrows and, suddenly, could not help himself. In the next moment, they were both laughing, louder and louder, careless like two naughty and dirty children they now resembled.
“When I was a child, I always liked to play in the mud, but never thought that one day I would do that with such an illustrious figure!” Elizabeth said, bursting into laugher again. “Your face!”
“Oh! But you are not much better, my dear. I can only imagine your child version doing this. What a sight it must have been…”
What a sight it was now…
His amusement slowly faded, as he began to scrutinise her beautiful eyes, now so close to him. He knew she had honey-coloured eyes but did not know they were sprinkled with golden flakes. Perfect for a queen .
His eyes moved to her cheek where a lock of muddy hair was still plastered to her face. He raised his clean hand, and with a feather-like touch, moved his fingers alongside her cheek, pushing the dirty hair away.
He was right. Her skin was as soft as he had imagined.
Looking back at her eyes, he searched for any sign of discomfort, but found none. She seemed to be as fascinated and enchanted as he was.
His eyes moved down to her lips, as he gently stroked her cheek again. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, lowering his lips towards hers.
“Darcy!” the familiar voice resounded from some distance. “Where are you?”
The unexpected sound froze them. The spell was broken. Darcy closed his eyes, and exhaling heavily, looked up at the approaching figure still at some distance.
Elizabeth took a long and deep breath. Was she… disappointed?
He looked back at her but did not move. “I am sorry, Eliz— Miss Elizabeth. You were right. Trying to pull you out was not one of my brightest ideas. Because of my presumption, I almost hurt you. You are not injured, I hope?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, I am not. Perhaps just my pride for being caught in such embarrassing circumstances. But no harm is done.”
“I will explain what happened to my cousin. You can trust his discretion,” Darcy said, sitting up and helping Elizabeth to join him as Richard, at last, caught sight of him.
“What must you be thinking of me, stuck in the mud like that?”
He smiled. “What do I think? I think you are quite… fetching. In fact, that was the reason I lost my balance.”
She tilted her head confused. “What—”
“Darcy, I found your horse and—” Richard stopped, his foot still in the air while dismounting as he caught sight of Miss Elizabeth at Darcy’s side. He scowled. “Darcy, what in heaven’s name are you doing in the mud, and with Miss Elizabeth no less? Have you lost your mind?” His angry voice echoed around the trees and a flock of birds flew away.
“Nothing like being discreet about delicate subjects,” Darcy muttered .
“I know you too well to think the worst, Darcy. You are too much of a gentleman to act like a rogue, but it does not mean Miss Elizabeth’s reputation cannot be ruined by your reckless behaviour.” He gave his cousin a threatening glare. “What if somebody else found you both here instead of me?”
The idea of such a compromise perversely appealed to Darcy. It could make things much easier for him ‘to be forced’ to do the right thing and marry her.
But Richard was right. Elizabeth did not deserve that. She deserved to be courted properly and feel cherished.
Coward . If he really wanted to kiss her — and God help him, but he desperately wanted to kiss her — he would need to conquer her heart and make her his wife. That was the way of a true gentleman.
Richard turned to Elizabeth. “Am I to understand you are well, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Yes, Colonel. Thank you for your concern, but what you see now is just the result of a bad attempt at rescue.” She turned to Darcy, holding his gaze. “Your cousin was gallantly trying to help me out of this mud, when he also lost his balance and joined me. And as you can see,” she said, turning back to the colonel, “we are now both stuck. If you do not mind, your help would be much appreciated. Would it not, Mr Darcy?”
Their eyes met again, and Darcy nodded, touched by her discreet but brave way of defending him.
The thought that she would have allowed him to kiss her — even if after that she would grant him a good slap on the face — made him feel warm inside.
Darcy inhaled long and sharply, averting his eyes from her and rubbing his forehead. What should he do? Could he ignore what have happened, wait for another week to pass, and finally return to his life as it had been? Despite not being in any way the most appealing option, it was probably the best one. In good time, he would find another lady, more aligned to what was expected from the future Mrs Darcy.
And Elizabeth will find another man to marry .
A bitter taste filled his mouth. A husband who will hold her, kiss her, and make her his wife, giving her children . The thought brought a sickening sensation, and suddenly Darcy could barely breathe.
He looked up and was arrested by the sight of one of his cousin’s hand sticking his sword in the ground, while the other was… entwined with Elizabeth’s as he pulled her out of the mud.
An inexplicable sensation possessed his body: anger — and a raw and possessive jealousy.
In that moment, Darcy realised that his desire to be close to Elizabeth, to talk to her, hold her and kiss her, was not just infatuation, or the natural attraction of a man to a beautiful woman.
No, it had been far beyond that for some time now.
He could not live knowing that Elizabeth belonged to another man. Reason and logic could go hang. What he felt for Elizabeth was much deeper and genuine; it was the reason poems were written and some wars were fought.
I love her .
Richard turned his attention back to Darcy, noticing his glare. With the strength and determination of a man used to fighting for his own life and the lives of those under his command, he pulled Darcy up to his feet and out of the mud.
But instead of letting Darcy’s hand go, Richard pulled him closer, looking at him straight in the eyes. “If the sight of another man holding her is enough to bring that fierce look in your eyes, then, for heaven’s sake, be a man and do the honourable thing. Marry her. Stop this ridiculous game you are playing. Do not trifle with her feelings. And do not deny it. I saw the way you were looking at each other.”
Darcy scowled, holding his cousin’s gaze and hand for a moment longer, then relaxed, releasing him.
His deuced cousin was right. Again.