Page 6 of What Comes Between Cousins
W HEN ELIZABETH AWOKE the next morning, the first thing she noticed was the sunlight shining in through the drawn curtains. Sitting up and being confronted with an unfamiliar bedchamber, the memories of the previous evening flooded back, but Elizabeth pushed such thoughts to the side for the moment. The storm of the previous night had given way to a beautiful November morning, and Elizabeth was eager to be out partaking in the glory of the new day.
Rising from the bed, Elizabeth quickly donned her dress from the day before and folded the borrowed nightgown with care, mentally noting to herself to thank Louisa. Then taking care to remain quiet, Elizabeth let herself from her room, down the stairs to the main door, and from thence out onto Netherfield’s front drive, where she walked around the house and into the back gardens.
They were just as she remembered them, and for a moment she felt a pang of loss for Penelope Mason’s company. They were of similar tastes and dispositions and had often enjoyed the gardens of Netherfield together or indulged in a hint of mischief. The departed Charlotte Lucas also entered Elizabeth’s mind, and she spared a moment of longing for another dear friend, now making her own way in the world. The thought, of course, brought Elizabeth’s mind back to her dear friend’s brother, Samuel, and she indulged in a few choice thoughts for the unfeeling man.
But the brightness of the day was such that Elizabeth could not long remain in dreary thoughts, and she soon shook them off and concentrated on her walk. The air was crisp and cool after the previous night’s rain, and the morning sun felt warm on her face. Elizabeth loved the feeling of the sun mixed with the chill in the air, and she strode forward, greeting each well-loved sight with delight, marveling in the beauties of nature to which only she seemed privy.
It was thus with surprise when Elizabeth noted the presence of others in Netherfield’s back gardens, and she stopped when she saw them approaching her, surprised that any of the other inhabitants would be up as early as she.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Lord Chesterfield with a smile and a nod. “You are awake earlier I might have expected.”
“And I might not have expected you to be out this early,” replied Elizabeth, directing an arch look at both the viscount and his cousin.
Lord Chesterfield laughed. “I fear that my years in the army have ruined me for sleeping later than I ought.”
“And what is your excuse, Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth, turning her attention to the other man.
“Only that morning is my favorite part of the day,” replied the man.
He did not make any attempt to further explain himself, and Elizabeth decided it was not proper to press. “Then I bid both of you a good day,” said she. “I am certain I shall see you at breakfast before we return to our home.”
“My cousin and I would be happy if you would walk with us,” said the viscount. “Unless you wish to walk alone.”
“No, indeed,” replied Elizabeth.
They turned and proceeded together, soon coming to a wide path Elizabeth remembered walking with Penelope many times. It was not so wide as to allow more than their current number, and Elizabeth was grateful they had not come in the company of Miss Bingley, for surely she would have tried to exclude Elizabeth.
“Your sisters are not likewise early risers?” asked Lord Chesterfield after they had walked for several moments.
“None of us are prone to sleeping late,” replied Elizabeth. “But I believe I am the most likely to be up early. That, however, is due to my love of nature and desire to be out of doors. None of my sisters share this predilection.”
“I will own a love of the outdoors myself,” replied Lord Chesterfield. “My pursuits, however, run more toward horses and hunting than walking. Darcy here is as avid a horseman as I am myself.”
“Though I am largely indifferent to hunting,” said Mr. Darcy, speaking for the first time. “I do hunt on occasion, but I am not nearly so interested in it as Fitzwilliam or even Hurst.”
“Where are our manners?” asked the viscount, smiling at Elizabeth. “I have no doubt our words about hunting are boring you to tears. Tell me, Miss Bennet—do you ride?”
“I do ride a little,” replied Elizabeth. “But I am not accomplished. Jane is the horsewoman in the family.”
“I am astonished, Miss Bennet,” said Lord Chesterfield, feigning shock, Elizabeth was certain. His cousin seemed to understand what he was about, for he looked at Elizabeth with interest. “But perhaps you have not considered the matter correctly.”
“What do you mean?” asked Elizabeth.
“Why, that with your love of nature, you would have the ability to see so much more of it were you astride a horse.” He grinned at her. “Unless, of course, you are able to run like the very wind itself.”
Elizabeth was quick to laugh. “No, sir, I am not so fleet of foot as your trusty steeds. Perhaps you are correct that I might see more of nature should I ride more, but one of my reasons for walking is for exercise, which I also enjoy. Were I to allow a steed to serve as my legs, it would defeat the purpose. Do you not agree?”
“I do not know,” replied Lord Chesterfield, turning to his cousin. “I seem to remember gentling some horses with nothing more than riding them provided all the exercise one required.”
“And riding a horse is not devoid of movement,” said Mr. Darcy, apparently ignoring his cousin’s sally. “There is some skill involved.”
“You are quite correct, sir,” replied Elizabeth, enjoying the sound of the man’s melodious voice. “But you must agree that walking provides more exercise than riding can.”
The gentleman agreed, and they continued on their walk. Soon talk turned to Hertfordshire and the lands around Meryton, and as Elizabeth was quite acquainted with them—at least the paths which meandered through the landscape near Longbourn—she was quite happy to tell them what she knew. In turn, the viscount described some of the sights he had seen, both on the continent and in the various places in England he had visited. He even described some of the sights he had seen on his grand tour before he had joined the army.
Though Mr. Darcy interjected with comments here and there, he was, for the most part, silent, content to listen to Elizabeth and his cousin carry on the conversation. Elizabeth was feeling more than a little confusion at this enigmatic man. He had actually winked at her last night, showing more spirit than she had ever before seen from him, yet this morning he was as reticent as she had ever seen him. Who, therefore, was the true Fitzwilliam Darcy?
Then his reticence faded, as the subject turned to the gentlemen’s own estates.
“Darcy’s estate is in Derbyshire, close to the Peak District,” said Lord Chesterfield. “Unfortunately, I do not think he can tell you everything, for there is not enough time. He is, you see, inordinately proud of his estate and can speak of it at great length.”
“I do love my home,” replied Mr. Darcy. “And my love for it is not much different from your family’s affinity for Snowlock.”
“You live near the peaks?” asked Elizabeth. “My Aunt Gardiner was raised in Derbyshire, not far from there. Have you heard of a little town called Lambton?”
“Lambton is not five miles from Pemberley,” replied Mr. Darcy with more animation than Elizabeth had seen from him the whole time they had been walking.
“It must be quite beautiful,” replied Elizabeth. “My aunt loved her years in Lambton, and she often talks of returning there when she has the chance.”
“I can understand her love for it. It is a picturesque location, and one the locals always seem to remember when life calls them to other places.” Mr. Darcy paused and then said: “Excuse me, Miss Bennet, but I wonder if I am acquainted with your aunt. Is she from one of the estates in the neighborhood?”
“No. She lived in the town itself. Her father was the rector of the church in Lambton until he passed suddenly when she was fifteen. Since then she has lived in London.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, though slowly. “I remember the circumstances, though not the particulars. Pemberley itself is part of Kympton parish, and my family has always attended church there.”
For the rest of their time walking the paths around Netherfield, they spoke of Mr. Darcy’s estate, and Elizabeth found that though his cousin’s words were spoken in jest, they were nothing less than the truth. It seemed like Mr. Darcy knew every rock and tree on his estate and was acquainted with everyone who lived there, down to the tiniest babe born only that summer. His cousin teased him, though with good-natured comments rather than jibes, and they passed a very agreeable time until they returned to the house.
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W HEN THEY RETURNED to the house, it was immediately clear that Miss Bingley did not appreciate the company they had kept. Miss Elizabeth herself seemed to sense this, and rather than respond with annoyance or anger, as he might have expected, she only parried Miss Bingley’s remarks.
“How kind of you gentlemen to entertain Miss Elizabeth!” exclaimed she when they escorted Elizabeth into the dining room for breakfast. Miss Bennet and Miss Mary were already there, as were the Hursts and her brother. Then Miss Bingley fixed her gaze on Miss Elizabeth. “Had I known you were to rise so early, I would have ensured there was someone to attend you.”
“It is no trouble, Miss Bingley,” replied Miss Elizabeth cheerfully. “The morning sun and a beautiful day are all I required to amuse myself.”
“And we did not amuse Miss Elizabeth,” added Fitzwilliam. “She seemed quite capable of amusing herself. But as we were all walking the grounds, we decided to walk them together.”
Though the woman did an admirable job of keeping her countenance, the look she bestowed on Miss Elizabeth implied she suspected her of attempting to compromise both himself and Fitzwilliam at once.
“It is quite fortunate, then, that you were blessed with ready protectors and companions, Elizabeth. How ever did you manage it?”
“It was completely by chance, I assure you, Caroline. Nothing more than a fortunate crossing of our paths allowed us to be together this morning.”
“You must be chilled,” said Mrs. Hurst. “Please sit down and partake of a little breakfast.”
“Thank you, Louisa,” replied Miss Elizabeth.
She went to the sideboard and helped herself to a light breakfast before taking it to the table and sitting next to her sisters. Darcy and Fitzwilliam shared a look and Darcy knew that his cousin’s thoughts mirrored his own—it was a rare woman who was able to ignore the incivility of another and parry her attacks with aplomb. He was grateful to Mrs. Hurst for deflecting her sister, who was now attending her own breakfast. The looks she directed at Miss Elizabeth when she thought no one was watching, however, spoke to her continued suspicion of the other woman.
It seemed like Miss Bingley had made the connection for the first time, though Darcy had noted his cousin’s interest in the second eldest Bennet for some time. Darcy did not think Fitzwilliam’s attentions tended to anything other than politeness, but Miss Bingley would not see it in such an innocuous way. To her, any other woman would be a rival, one she would be required to best in her pursuit of a wealthy husband.
“Are the selections this morning to your taste, Lord Chesterfield?” asked Miss Bingley after a few moments. “If there is something you would prefer, I would be happy to speak with the cook.”
“There is nothing further I require, Miss Bingley,” replied Fitzwilliam, his amusement barely held in check. “Your cook is to be commended, I think, for the meals at Netherfield thus far have been very fine.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Miss Bingley, preening as if Fitzwilliam had just paid her the compliment. “We do our best to provide all our guests with the best.” She paused and bestowed an unctuous smile on him. “Tell me, sir, does your mother intend to come to Netherfield to visit?” She turned to Darcy. “And your sister? I had understood there was some talk they would both join us?”
“I did mention it to my mother,” replied Fitzwilliam. It was all Darcy could do not to snort—though the invitation had been extended, Darcy doubted the Countess of Matlock would agree to stay at Netherfield. She had met Miss Bingley, unfortunately, and did not like her. “But I believe she and my father—as well as Georgiana—are ensconced at Snowlock for the present and shall not leave it.”
“Please give her my regards,” replied Miss Bingley, “and ensure she understands she is welcome to come at any time convenient. We would be happy to have her.”
“Thank you, Miss Bingley. I surely shall.”
The conversation at the breakfast table continued to consist of that particular dance of huntress and unwilling prey. Miss Bingley asked after Fitzwilliam’s comfort in minute detail, while Fitzwilliam parried and assured her he was quite well. No doubt he was thinking of certain times on campaign when his situation had been a matter of life and death, and such comforts were the furthest thing from his mind. Miss Bingley, by contrast, thought of nothing more than catching a titled husband.
Of the rest of the company. Mrs. Hurst quite obviously knew what her sister was doing, and if her pinched look was anything to go by, she was not amused. Miss Bennet and Bingley spoke quietly to themselves, with Miss Mary injecting a comment at times, and Hurst was, as usual, engrossed in his breakfast. It was Miss Elizabeth who caught his attention, as she was, as was Darcy himself, well aware of what Miss Bingley was about.
“Do you think your cousin enjoys the attention he is receiving?” asked Miss Elizabeth in a quiet voice when she noted his scrutiny.
“Knowing Fitzwilliam, I do not doubt he does,” was Darcy’s reply.
Miss Elizabeth chuckled. “Then I suppose there is no need to rescue him. He seems to be quite in his element, after all.”
Darcy fixed a long and deliberate look on his cousin, and then with an exaggerated slowness, he turned back to Miss Elizabeth. “I had considered attempting to distract her—it is usually I, after all, who am the focus of her attention.”
By now, Miss Elizabeth was grinning openly. “And why do you not?”
Shrugging, Darcy said: “Because I am enjoying the reprieve. Besides, my loyalty to my cousin only runs so deep, you understand.”
It was admirable the way Miss Elizabeth avoided laughing with nothing more than a slight snort escaping. Darcy, however, could only see the way her eyes twinkled with mirth, even if her outward show of emotion was curbed. She picked up her glass and drank from it, Darcy was certain, to further stifle any reaction. When she put it down, she turned a severe look on him.
“For shame, sir,” said she.
“Do you have anything, in particular for which to censure me?” asked Darcy blandly.
“It is not proper to force me to laugh at my hostess in front of her, sir, to say nothing of the inappropriate topic of conversation.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet, but if you recall, it was not I who raised the subject.”
Miss Elizabeth made a great show of thinking about it before she turned back to him. Darcy noted that her jollity had not subsided in the slightest. “I will grant you that, sir, though I declare you turned the conversation which provoked my mirth. I was merely asking a question.”
“Ah, but did the question not invite me to respond with humor?”
“I can see I should not trade such words with you, Mr. Darcy. You are entirely too quick. I must warn my father—you are clearly not a man who may be the target of sportive comments without understanding.”
“And your father enjoys doing so?”
“He does not make sport of others to make them ridiculous,” replied she. “But follies and inconsistencies do amuse him. I must own that I find them diverting myself.”
Darcy returned her look with as sober a cast to his countenance as he could manage. “Then I will guard against any seemingly silly behavior, Miss Elizabeth. I would not wish to be the target for you—or your father’s—witticisms.”
Unable to hold it in any longer, Miss Elizabeth broke into laughter, and Darcy found that he could not hold back himself, indulging in a few chuckles. Their laughter drew the attention of the others around the table. Her sisters were aware of her character and only smiled in an indulgent fashion before turning back to Bingley and their conversation, while Mrs. Hurst looked on with interest. Miss Bingley, however, seemed to sense a situation which would not be to her advantage.
“Would you share whatever prompted your laughter, Elizabeth? Few have been able to make Mr. Darcy laugh, for he is known as a sober, serious sort of man.”
“I laugh as much as the next man, Miss Bingley,” replied Darcy, speaking before Miss Elizabeth would be required to respond. “But I hope I do not do so in a frivolous manner.”
“Then Eliza’s words must have been quite diverting, Mr. Darcy, for I have already known this of you.”
By her side, and apparently enjoying the cessation of the woman’s focus for a time, Fitzwilliam watched them, merriment dancing in his eyes. Darcy speared him with a look, warning him not to speak, and Fitzwilliam grinned. It was clear he knew that at the very least their commentary had been concerning the woman at his side.
“It was nothing of consequence, Miss Bingley,” said Miss Elizabeth before Darcy could speak again. “Mr. Darcy and I were speaking of follies and inconsistencies and how they may be amusing at times.”
Miss Bingley’s smile turned positively patronizing. “If you will recall, Mr. Darcy just spoke of not laughing frivolously. Surely you do not mean to teach him to laugh at silliness such as this.”
“Oh, I would never dream of directing Mr. Darcy’s humor,” replied Miss Elizabeth. “I am certain he shall laugh whenever he feels it warranted. But for my part, I believe there is much in life at which to laugh. Provided we are not unkind to others, we may laugh away. I, myself, dearly love to laugh. It makes a world which is otherwise dreary at times much more bearable.”
“Here, here!” exclaimed Fitzwilliam. “Having seen much in my life, I cannot but agree with you, Miss Elizabeth. It is much easier to walk the path of life when you do so with pleasure, rather than sorrow.”
Miss Bingley grunted, but she seemed to sense that the conversation was not proceeding in her favor, and she called Fitzwilliam’s attention back to her. A wry grin was his cousin’s response, but Fitzwilliam did his duty and turned back to his hostess. Darcy did not miss the frequent glances his cousin directed at Miss Elizabeth and Darcy himself. There was a quality inherent in them which Darcy could not quite make out; his cousin seemed to be watching Darcy askance, but Darcy could not quite determine why.
At length, when breakfast was consumed, the Bennet sisters insisted that it was time to return to their home, after apologizing for imposing upon their hosts. While the duty of response should have fallen to Miss Bingley, as the hostess, it was Mrs. Hurst who shouldered the burden.
“Nonsense! You cannot control the weather, after all—or if you can, I fear I have not given you nearly enough credit.”
The Bennet sisters laughed, but it was Miss Mary, with whom Mrs. Hurst seemed to have struck up a friendship, who responded for them.
“No, you are correct in that matter, Louisa. We are not nearly well enough versed in the occult to exert such control.”
The way Mrs. Hurst’s eyes darted to her sister and the pinched look Miss Bingley gave her in response, suggested something behind that comment. But whatever it was, Darcy could not quite tell, and the demands of the present conversation forced it from his mind.
“Then it is no imposition. In fact, we were happy to have you with us. I hope we may do it again very soon.”
“I agree,” said Bingley. “It would be no imposition to have you stay with us longer. Shall you not remain until luncheon and then return to Longbourn after?”
Once again Miss Bingley’s countenance darkened, but the woman was saved by the insistence of the Bennet sisters.
“Thank you all,” said Miss Bennet. “But I believe we must be returning to our home. We appreciate your friendship and your hospitality, but we must depart.”
With such a strong declaration, no one attempted to gainsay them further. Fitzwilliam called for his carriage to be made ready, and soon the Bennet sisters had entered therein for their short journey to their home. As he watched the carriage proceed down the drive, Darcy could not help but notice the sun shone just a little less brightly with their absence.
“How wonderful it is to have one’s home to oneself again,” said Miss Bingley as they re-entered the house.
It was clear that no one agreed with her. But no response was made, allowing the woman the illusion of the company’s approval. For himself, Darcy certainly was not about to agree with her.