Short Stories
Starting Anew on Button Hill
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The grounds of Rosings Park were so lovely, and the weather so much warmer than one often sees in Kent in late April, that a scheme of the most delightful sort was concocted by the two young ladies residing at the manor house: an excursion through the eastern fields, which would conclude with a picnic at the top of Button Hill, a spot that had long been a family favourite. An invitation was quickly sent to the ladies at the parsonage, where it was received—and accepted—with genuine pleasure by those within.
Upon learning that Mrs. Collins, her sister, and her pretty friend were to accompany Anne and Georgiana on their outing, the party quickly increased from five persons to six, and then from six to seven, for Lady Catherine's nephews—one taciturn, the other charismatic—both found the lively intelligence and pleasing figure of one particular lady extremely agreeable. Once Mr. Collins learnt of the gentlemen's intention to join the ladies, he declared that his garden and his bees would surely keep until the following day. Before his sensible wife could suggest otherwise, however, their party was increased to eight.
Since it was highly doubtful that eight persons would be comfortable within the confines of Anne's phaeton, two open carriages were secured from Lady Catherine's carriage house instead. The first contained the four single ladies; the second, the two gentlemen and Mr. and Mrs. Collins. The drive, while relatively short, was rendered quite enjoyable by the beauty of the property and the pleasantness of the company; though, when taking into account the logistics of each person involved, perhaps this carried more truth for the occupants of the first conveyance than it did for those in the second.
After half an hour the party reached the base of Button Hill, where everyone abandoned the comfort of their equipage and began the assent to the top by foot. It was a surprisingly vigorous walk, but by no means unpleasant, even for Anne, whose unfortunate bouts of ill-health often prevented her from enjoying the estate in such a fashion.
When the five ladies and two of the gentlemen finally reached the crest, they sought refuge under the dappled shade of an ancient oak tree, whose heavy limbs and budding leaves offered a meager but welcome reprieve from the sun's punishing rays. While the servants began unloading various provisions from a horse-drawn cart and proceeded to lay out an elegant midday meal, Mr. Collins (the very last to reach the top) joined them, his exhalation of relief audible.
"Though I am by no means discouraged by a little exercise," he declared as he mopped his brow with his handkerchief and lowered himself to the ground, "I have often observed that to sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment; indeed, it is, for I cannot possibly imagine a better way to pass an afternoon in the country! And how fortunate for us that we have the pleasure of being within the grounds of Rosings Park, whose unexampled beauty is perfection itself, but certainly nothing when compared to the tremendous condescension and affability of Her Ladyship, whose generosity is without comparison…"
Darcy, who stood but a short distance away, plucked a pretty pink Bachelor's Button from a blooming shrub with an exhalation of his own. Though he certainly could not rejoice in the parson's presence, he had decided to swallow his pride and suffer the man's never-ending postulations in exchange for the very great pleasure of watching Elizabeth Bennet as she walked arm in arm with his beloved sister not twenty meters away. The sound of their laughter—especially Georgiana's—was a true delight to him, and well worth any amount of time spent deflecting the tiresome effusions of Mr. Collins.
Though he wished for nothing more than the privilege of joining them, especially when faced with the prospect of having Elizabeth's gloved hand upon his arm as he escorted her, Darcy was not so selfish as to deprive his shy sister of the friendship and confidence she had found in the woman he had admired since his visit to Hertfordshire last autumn.
It did not surprise him in the least that Elizabeth, with her inherent goodness and endless patience, did not hesitate to treat Georgiana with the same care and tender consideration she had shown her dearest sister Jane at Netherfield. To his infinite satisfaction, Elizabeth appeared as delighted with the girl's society as Georgiana was with hers. Considering the depth of his feelings for both ladies, Darcy saw the blossoming friendship between them as a lovely show of domesticity that boded well for their future. It affected him profoundly, and filled his heart with an endless amount of gratification. Simply knowing that Georgiana was in Elizabeth's capable hands warmed his heart and put his mind completely at ease. There was no other woman in his circle of acquaintance, save for his cousin Anne, with whom he trusted her more.
As his yearly pilgrimage to Rosings grew nearer, Darcy had found himself wrestling with the idea of bringing Georgiana with him on the journey into Kent. With the exception of spending time with their cousins Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam, it was a trip she rarely enjoyed, especially when exposed to the constant scrutiny and demanding nature of their officious aunt. Darcy, much to his frustration, found himself repeatedly plagued by a plethora of troubling questions to which there were no ready answers. Would bringing Georgiana along after the near disaster at Ramsgate cause her more harm than good? Would she only withdraw further into herself as she continued to suffer the repercussions of meeting with Wickham last summer, despite the solicitation of an adoring elder brother and doting cousins?
In the end, it was the idea of leaving his sister alone—again—that spurred Darcy's decision. After consulting Colonel Fitzwilliam, with whom he shared guardianship of Georgiana, it was quickly decided that they would both simply do their best to shield her from Lady Catherine's meddlesome instruction. Neither gentleman, however, would abandon their charge to her own devises. For Darcy, this would extend to Pemberley and his house in London, as well as Rosings Park. His failure to protect his sister when she needed him most—to be there when she had no mother to attend and advise her—had been his gravest mistake to date, and one he would regret until his dying day.
"You are rather contemplative this afternoon, Cousin."
With a start, Darcy pulled his gaze from the two women he loved most in the world and met Colonel Fitzwilliam's concerned countenance. "I suppose," he replied evenly, twirling the small flower between his fingertips, "but I find I have much to contemplate as of late."
The colonel's eyes immediately sought Elizabeth, who was seated beside Miss Darcy upon the grass. The colourful bonnets of both ladies were tilted toward one another as they conversed in earnest, their expressions unduly serious. "I would say so. It seems your contemplation, however, has done Georgiana an incredible amount of good. She has found a great friend and confidante in Miss Bennet."
"She has," Darcy said with a small, approving smile, "and I could not imagine a better one for her. It would please me to no end if they would continue their friendship after we leave Kent. Indeed, I have every intention of forwarding the connexion. I know Miss Bennet, with her fondness for nature, would love the untamed country of Derbyshire. Perhaps Georgiana can extend an invitation to her to stay the summer with us at Pemberley."
"Or perhaps, if her mother can spare her," the colonel suggested, "she could even return with you after her stay here has come to an end."
"Perhaps," Darcy replied absently as his mind became flooded with delightful images of Elizabeth in his ancestral home, his mother's rose garden, the park, the grounds, the wooded paths, his bedchamber--as his wife.
"Is that your design, then?" Fitzwilliam carefully inquired as he watched the various expressions that crossed his cousin's face. "To use your sister to entice Miss Bennet to Pemberley, where you will do…what with her, exactly?"
Darcy's eyes narrowed, his ruminations immediately gone. He was no longer pleased by his cousin's words, as was evident by the low growl that escaped his throat as he addressed him. "And what is it, exactly, that you are suggesting I do with Miss Bennet, Fitzwilliam? She is a gentleman's daughter, not some common trollop."
"Oh, for the love of God, I am certainly not suggesting that you do that. I like Miss Bennet. She is one of the loveliest ladies I have had the pleasure of knowing, and a most welcome addition to our party at Rosings. Indeed, she could very well be your equal in intellect, Darcy, but after observing your behaviour toward her for the past several weeks, and hers toward you, I fear, should she accompany Georgiana to Pemberley, that you will not arrive at the resolution that you so clearly desire with her."
"I cannot imagine what you mean."
The colonel gave his cousin a pointed look and said, "Darcy, I have seen the way your eyes follow the lady's every move; the way your entire focus is drawn to her whenever she enters a room; the flashes of desire and longing that appear in your expression whenever she speaks, or sings, or argues with you; but has the clever Miss Bennet, who does not know you half so well as I, discerned these actions herself? Does she comprehend what your reticence toward her means? The heated looks you give her? You are behaving very differently than I am used to seeing you behave when in the company of a beautiful woman. You are completely enamoured with Miss Bennet and I am worried."
The corners of Darcy's mouth twitched in agitation before turning downward. "Well, you need not trouble yourself, Richard. I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own interests. Besides, Miss Bennet is no fortune hunter."
Colonel Fitzwilliam inclined his head in agreement. "No, that she is not. You misunderstand me, though, Cousin, so I will speak more plainly. Do you believe the lady returns your regard?"
"I cannot say for certain the depth of her regard, but why would she not return it?"
Colonel Fitzwilliam snorted as he ran his hand over his mouth in an agitated manner. "Well, for starters, I have spent quite a bit of time with Miss Bennet, and, though it pains me to say it, I have not detected any particular preference for you on her part. As a matter of fact, she seems rather unimpressed with you, and just as likely to marry Henderson, our aunt's butler."
"That is preposterous," Darcy charged with a scowl. "Henderson is old enough to be Miss Bennet's grandfather."
"Very well, then. I will wager instead that Miss Bennet is just as likely to marry me—if I were in a position to ask for her hand, that is, which, of course, I am not."
"Why are you doing this?" Darcy demanded through gritted teeth.
"Because I care about you, and because I honestly believe that Miss Bennet has no idea of the nature of your regard for her. How could she when you hardly speak two sentences to her whenever you are in company together? And, though I loathe to refer to the blackguard at all, never mind by name, there is also the matter of her friendship with George Wickham."
At the mention of his former friend, Darcy's eyes narrowed further; the delicate pink flower crumpled in his clenched fist.
"She believes his lies, Darcy. I know this for a fact because she told me so herself just the other morning. You must admit, when combined with your constant staring at her, your reticence, your silence, and your abominable pride, you have clearly done yourself no favours with Miss Bennet."
The colonel placed firm hands upon Darcy's rigid shoulders and looked him directly in the eye. "I am very sorry, but if you truly care for her as I know you do, then you must start anew, and exert yourself in order to win her admiration. Be open with her. Do not hide behind your haughty facade. You have it in you, Cousin, and it will be very much worth your while in the end. Miss Bennet is truly lovely and completely artless. If she only knew you as I do—as Georgiana does—her admiration of you would no doubt equal yours for her."
Fitzwilliam released Darcy and stepped away. His long strides quickly carried him toward Anne, who was sitting upon a shaded patch of ground enjoying a repast of cold meat and fruit with the Collinses and Maria Lucas. Darcy watched him go, his emotions in a complete upheaval. He was in no state of mind to join them, and, not for the first time, marvelled at Richard's easy manners. The colonel, though hardly handsome, was extremely agreeable, and never had any problem finding companionship, be it in the company of his officers, the gentlemen in Town, or the arms of a willing woman.
With Darcy, however, it was never so simple. The master of Pemberley, though well-versed in the finer points of conversation, was still a private man by nature, and often found it difficult to make small talk with those whom he did not know particularly well. While this hindered him to some extent, especially in Hertfordshire society, where he knew absolutely no one save for the Bingleys and the Hursts, Darcy was in no way lacking in general acquaintances. In truth, he had those in abundance, but it pained him to know that it was most likely his money and notoriety in Town that had attracted those acquaintances in the first place, rather than any ability or desire he may or may not have had to interact with them on a social level.
In the distance, Darcy heard the gentle laughter of Anne, Mrs. Collins, and Maria Lucas, no doubt amused by some witty remark Richard had made to entertain them. Their laughter did nothing to improve his low spirits, and his mind continued to dwell upon the disturbing—nay, devastating—proclamation made by his cousin concerning the woman with whom Darcy was hopelessly in love.
Did Elizabeth Bennet truly have no idea that he was in love with her? Did she honestly care nothing for him; for what he could offer her? Was there nothing at all she desired from him? Could the contents of his pocketbook, or the prospect of being the next mistress of Pemberley carry so little weight with her? Did they pose no temptation what so ever? To Darcy, who was used to the coy attention and calculating machinations of London's eager debutantes and their grasping mothers, it seemed unfathomable; but he had always trusted Richard implicitly, as had his father, George Darcy, when he was still alive; enough so to entrust Georgiana's well-being to him; her very life. Is it really any different, the master of Pemberley wondered, to trust him now in matters of the heart?
Completely overwhelmed, Darcy's eyes sought the one person he knew who could bring him some degree of solace, even when it was the possibility of her very indifference to him that had caused the ache in his heart. What Darcy saw when he looked upon her, however, was so far from what he had expected to see that he could barely breathe. Elizabeth was kneeling upon the ground some distance away with her fingers raised to her lips, a look of horror upon her lovely face. Georgiana watched helplessly, her hands twisting the fabric of her gown in agitation. Both ladies were in a state of severe distress.
"Good God!" Darcy exclaimed when he reached them. "Whatever is the matter?"
Georgiana met his worried gaze with a frantic look of her own. "I am so sorry!" she cried as Darcy took her into his arms. "I did not mean to upset her, but it seems that I can do nothing right!"
"I do not understand, Sweetling," he replied, confused by her confession. His eyes darted to Elizabeth, whose countenance was decidedly pale.
Georgiana's bottom lip quivered slightly, her expression one of fear. "I…I told her of Mr. Wickham," she whispered. "Please do not be angry with me, Brother. It was for my own benefit as well as Miss Bennet's that I thought to speak of it at all, though it was obviously much more of a shock than I imagined it would be to her. Indeed, I know now that I never should have mentioned it. Oh! To burden her with something so shameful! What she must think of me for my thoughtless indiscretion!"
Darcy's eyes widened in shock and, in light of his recent conversation with Fitzwilliam, sudden comprehension. For his sister's sake, he quickly composed himself. "Shh. Calm yourself, Dearest. How can I possibly be angry with you, Georgiana, when you have acted with nothing but bravery, and the best of intentions? I am certain that Miss Bennet, as good and pure of heart as she is, would never judge you for being deceived by such a man as Mr. Wickham. Do not forget that she is acquainted with him as well, and she is your friend. She could not possibly think ill of you. It is not in her nature."
"Your brother is correct, Miss Darcy." Elizabeth's voice, Darcy noted, was painfully quiet, but the relief it brought him was great, especially when she said, "You have absolutely nothing to repine, and certainly nothing of which to be ashamed. You were very right to warn me of Mr. Wickham, so that I would no longer be taken in by his charming manners and pretty words." To Darcy's surprise, her last words were spoken as she looked upon him.
Elizabeth reached for her friend's hand and clasped it between her own. "Please forgive me, Miss Darcy, for reacting so strongly to what you have been so generous to relate. I am not insensible of the kindness of such a selfless gesture, only appalled by the depth of Mr. Wickham's deceit; by the methods that he employed and the lengths to which he would go in order to… Oh! It is in every way despicable! But, please know that I could never think badly of you for believing his lies, not when I, myself am guilty of doing the same."
Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived then with Mrs. Collins and Anne, their faces etched with concern as they took in the countenances of both ladies. Meeting his cousin's eye, Darcy slowly inclined his head toward Georgiana in a silent entreaty, then made a slight motion toward Elizabeth with a furrowed brow. For the moment, at least, she appeared somewhat better composed than she had earlier. The colonel nodded his head and extended his hand to Georgiana, encouraging her to stand, then asked Mrs. Collins and Anne to assist him with his charge.
The parson's wife glanced at her friend, then gave the master of Pemberley an appraising look. It was Anne, however, who addressed him. "If you would be so kind as to see to Miss Bennet's comfort for a few moments, Cousin, while we tend to Georgiana, Mrs. Collins and I would be most appreciative. Perhaps you might take her for a short walk. There is a lovely prospect on the other side of the hill."
To Elizabeth she simply smiled and said, "Miss Bennet, please indulge me. I believe you would benefit greatly from the exercise, as well as the solitude."
While Darcy's look of incredulity was directed at his cousin, he quickly schooled his features into some semblance of composure and turned to address Elizabeth. "It would be my pleasure." He rose and extended his hand to her. "Shall we, Miss Bennet? Do you feel well enough to stand?"
A moment passed before Elizabeth inclined her head and accepted his proffered hand, but when she did, despite the unsteadiness of her own hand, Darcy was pleased to note that her grip was firm. He assisted her as she stood, then placed her hand upon his arm and covered it with his other. Before she could protest, he began to lead her toward the opposite side of the hill.
When they were far enough from the rest of their party so as not to be overheard, Darcy stopped and Elizabeth quickly withdrew her hand from his arm. The action pained him, and he felt the loss of her touch acutely. As they looked out over the large expanse of field that stretched before them, the long, verdant grass dancing and swaying in the slight breeze, Elizabeth finally addressed him, her voice barely audible. "I am so ashamed of myself."
Darcy shook his head. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Bennet. Mr. Wickham is quite practised in the art of deception. No one knows that better than I. You could not have known what he truly is. I am only sorry that I did nothing to warn you away from him in Hertfordshire. I am afraid the only excuse I can offer for my inaction, which is in fact no excuse at all, is that my wounds from last summer were still too new, my concern for my family's reputation too great. My temper and my pride would not allow me to reveal my own dealings with him, though I now see that I should have done so without hesitation. Perhaps then you would have been spared your own disappointment. It pains me that he hurt you so deeply, and my regret knows no bounds. Good God!" he exclaimed with no little emotion. "To think that I could have prevented it!"
Startled by the fervency of Darcy's outburst, Elizabeth immediately turned her eyes upon him. "You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy," she informed him as a deep blush coloured her cheeks. "It was only my compassion that was engaged by Mr. Wickham's speeches, never my heart. The only disappointment I currently suffer is due to my own stubbornness, my own pride; certainly no failure to act on your part. Of course, you ought to have protected your sister from discovery. Miss Darcy was young at the time, and quite impressionable. I, on the other hand, should have been able to see through Mr. Wickham's act, but instead, I chose to be blind to it. I accepted his tale of misfortune without question and believed him to be a gentleman, all the while indulging my shameful prejudice against another man who is truly honourable and good. I believed the very worst of you," she whispered.
"Perhaps," Darcy murmured. He was pained, not only by her confession, but by the realization that he had probably given her little reason at the time not to believe the worst of him. "I am not inclined to hold the past against you, Miss Bennet. I can easily recall a very intelligent, very lovely young woman once telling me that she remembers the past only as it gives her pleasure. It would please me greatly—more than you could ever comprehend—to be granted the opportunity to begin again with you."
"As it would please me, sir," she said with a tentative smile as she extended her hand to him in a gesture of good faith. "As a matter of fact, at the moment I can think of nothing I would like more."
With much emotion did Darcy take her hand in his own; but, rather than bowing over it, as he knew he ought to do, Darcy raised it boldly to his lips, his eyes burning with every ounce of ardent admiration and longing he felt for the woman before him as he gazed into her own chocolate depths.
He heard Elizabeth's breath catch, no doubt she had finally discerned the meaning behind his piercing look, and resisted the urge to grin with the sudden feeling of satisfaction that swelled within his breast. Never again would Elizabeth Bennet mistake his ardent admiration for contempt, or worse: indifference. Darcy was determined to put aside his pride and show her what she meant to him; to make his intentions known until there remained in her mind not a single doubt that he admired her. From this moment forward, Elizabeth need only look into his eyes to know the truth: that he loved her; that he wanted her; that he had every intention of earning her regard, her admiration, and, ultimately, her love.
As Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley stood at the top of Button Hill on a beautiful April day, lost as he gazed upon the woman he cherished, he realized two things. One: even though he had only recently learnt that he could not always have his own way in everything, he was still obstinate enough to try; and two: Elizabeth Bennet was well worth the effort.
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Upon learning that Mrs. Collins, her sister, and her pretty friend were to accompany Anne and Georgiana on their outing, the party quickly increased from five persons to six, and then from six to seven, for Lady Catherine's nephews—one taciturn, the other charismatic—both found the lively intelligence and pleasing figure of one particular lady extremely agreeable. Once Mr. Collins learnt of the gentlemen's intention to join the ladies, he declared that his garden and his bees would surely keep until the following day. Before his sensible wife could suggest otherwise, however, their party was increased to eight.
Since it was highly doubtful that eight persons would be comfortable within the confines of Anne's phaeton, two open carriages were secured from Lady Catherine's carriage house instead. The first contained the four single ladies; the second, the two gentlemen and Mr. and Mrs. Collins. The drive, while relatively short, was rendered quite enjoyable by the beauty of the property and the pleasantness of the company; though, when taking into account the logistics of each person involved, perhaps this carried more truth for the occupants of the first conveyance than it did for those in the second.
After half an hour the party reached the base of Button Hill, where everyone abandoned the comfort of their equipage and began the assent to the top by foot. It was a surprisingly vigorous walk, but by no means unpleasant, even for Anne, whose unfortunate bouts of ill-health often prevented her from enjoying the estate in such a fashion.
When the five ladies and two of the gentlemen finally reached the crest, they sought refuge under the dappled shade of an ancient oak tree, whose heavy limbs and budding leaves offered a meager but welcome reprieve from the sun's punishing rays. While the servants began unloading various provisions from a horse-drawn cart and proceeded to lay out an elegant midday meal, Mr. Collins (the very last to reach the top) joined them, his exhalation of relief audible.
"Though I am by no means discouraged by a little exercise," he declared as he mopped his brow with his handkerchief and lowered himself to the ground, "I have often observed that to sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment; indeed, it is, for I cannot possibly imagine a better way to pass an afternoon in the country! And how fortunate for us that we have the pleasure of being within the grounds of Rosings Park, whose unexampled beauty is perfection itself, but certainly nothing when compared to the tremendous condescension and affability of Her Ladyship, whose generosity is without comparison…"
Darcy, who stood but a short distance away, plucked a pretty pink Bachelor's Button from a blooming shrub with an exhalation of his own. Though he certainly could not rejoice in the parson's presence, he had decided to swallow his pride and suffer the man's never-ending postulations in exchange for the very great pleasure of watching Elizabeth Bennet as she walked arm in arm with his beloved sister not twenty meters away. The sound of their laughter—especially Georgiana's—was a true delight to him, and well worth any amount of time spent deflecting the tiresome effusions of Mr. Collins.
Though he wished for nothing more than the privilege of joining them, especially when faced with the prospect of having Elizabeth's gloved hand upon his arm as he escorted her, Darcy was not so selfish as to deprive his shy sister of the friendship and confidence she had found in the woman he had admired since his visit to Hertfordshire last autumn.
It did not surprise him in the least that Elizabeth, with her inherent goodness and endless patience, did not hesitate to treat Georgiana with the same care and tender consideration she had shown her dearest sister Jane at Netherfield. To his infinite satisfaction, Elizabeth appeared as delighted with the girl's society as Georgiana was with hers. Considering the depth of his feelings for both ladies, Darcy saw the blossoming friendship between them as a lovely show of domesticity that boded well for their future. It affected him profoundly, and filled his heart with an endless amount of gratification. Simply knowing that Georgiana was in Elizabeth's capable hands warmed his heart and put his mind completely at ease. There was no other woman in his circle of acquaintance, save for his cousin Anne, with whom he trusted her more.
As his yearly pilgrimage to Rosings grew nearer, Darcy had found himself wrestling with the idea of bringing Georgiana with him on the journey into Kent. With the exception of spending time with their cousins Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam, it was a trip she rarely enjoyed, especially when exposed to the constant scrutiny and demanding nature of their officious aunt. Darcy, much to his frustration, found himself repeatedly plagued by a plethora of troubling questions to which there were no ready answers. Would bringing Georgiana along after the near disaster at Ramsgate cause her more harm than good? Would she only withdraw further into herself as she continued to suffer the repercussions of meeting with Wickham last summer, despite the solicitation of an adoring elder brother and doting cousins?
In the end, it was the idea of leaving his sister alone—again—that spurred Darcy's decision. After consulting Colonel Fitzwilliam, with whom he shared guardianship of Georgiana, it was quickly decided that they would both simply do their best to shield her from Lady Catherine's meddlesome instruction. Neither gentleman, however, would abandon their charge to her own devises. For Darcy, this would extend to Pemberley and his house in London, as well as Rosings Park. His failure to protect his sister when she needed him most—to be there when she had no mother to attend and advise her—had been his gravest mistake to date, and one he would regret until his dying day.
"You are rather contemplative this afternoon, Cousin."
With a start, Darcy pulled his gaze from the two women he loved most in the world and met Colonel Fitzwilliam's concerned countenance. "I suppose," he replied evenly, twirling the small flower between his fingertips, "but I find I have much to contemplate as of late."
The colonel's eyes immediately sought Elizabeth, who was seated beside Miss Darcy upon the grass. The colourful bonnets of both ladies were tilted toward one another as they conversed in earnest, their expressions unduly serious. "I would say so. It seems your contemplation, however, has done Georgiana an incredible amount of good. She has found a great friend and confidante in Miss Bennet."
"She has," Darcy said with a small, approving smile, "and I could not imagine a better one for her. It would please me to no end if they would continue their friendship after we leave Kent. Indeed, I have every intention of forwarding the connexion. I know Miss Bennet, with her fondness for nature, would love the untamed country of Derbyshire. Perhaps Georgiana can extend an invitation to her to stay the summer with us at Pemberley."
"Or perhaps, if her mother can spare her," the colonel suggested, "she could even return with you after her stay here has come to an end."
"Perhaps," Darcy replied absently as his mind became flooded with delightful images of Elizabeth in his ancestral home, his mother's rose garden, the park, the grounds, the wooded paths, his bedchamber--as his wife.
"Is that your design, then?" Fitzwilliam carefully inquired as he watched the various expressions that crossed his cousin's face. "To use your sister to entice Miss Bennet to Pemberley, where you will do…what with her, exactly?"
Darcy's eyes narrowed, his ruminations immediately gone. He was no longer pleased by his cousin's words, as was evident by the low growl that escaped his throat as he addressed him. "And what is it, exactly, that you are suggesting I do with Miss Bennet, Fitzwilliam? She is a gentleman's daughter, not some common trollop."
"Oh, for the love of God, I am certainly not suggesting that you do that. I like Miss Bennet. She is one of the loveliest ladies I have had the pleasure of knowing, and a most welcome addition to our party at Rosings. Indeed, she could very well be your equal in intellect, Darcy, but after observing your behaviour toward her for the past several weeks, and hers toward you, I fear, should she accompany Georgiana to Pemberley, that you will not arrive at the resolution that you so clearly desire with her."
"I cannot imagine what you mean."
The colonel gave his cousin a pointed look and said, "Darcy, I have seen the way your eyes follow the lady's every move; the way your entire focus is drawn to her whenever she enters a room; the flashes of desire and longing that appear in your expression whenever she speaks, or sings, or argues with you; but has the clever Miss Bennet, who does not know you half so well as I, discerned these actions herself? Does she comprehend what your reticence toward her means? The heated looks you give her? You are behaving very differently than I am used to seeing you behave when in the company of a beautiful woman. You are completely enamoured with Miss Bennet and I am worried."
The corners of Darcy's mouth twitched in agitation before turning downward. "Well, you need not trouble yourself, Richard. I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own interests. Besides, Miss Bennet is no fortune hunter."
Colonel Fitzwilliam inclined his head in agreement. "No, that she is not. You misunderstand me, though, Cousin, so I will speak more plainly. Do you believe the lady returns your regard?"
"I cannot say for certain the depth of her regard, but why would she not return it?"
Colonel Fitzwilliam snorted as he ran his hand over his mouth in an agitated manner. "Well, for starters, I have spent quite a bit of time with Miss Bennet, and, though it pains me to say it, I have not detected any particular preference for you on her part. As a matter of fact, she seems rather unimpressed with you, and just as likely to marry Henderson, our aunt's butler."
"That is preposterous," Darcy charged with a scowl. "Henderson is old enough to be Miss Bennet's grandfather."
"Very well, then. I will wager instead that Miss Bennet is just as likely to marry me—if I were in a position to ask for her hand, that is, which, of course, I am not."
"Why are you doing this?" Darcy demanded through gritted teeth.
"Because I care about you, and because I honestly believe that Miss Bennet has no idea of the nature of your regard for her. How could she when you hardly speak two sentences to her whenever you are in company together? And, though I loathe to refer to the blackguard at all, never mind by name, there is also the matter of her friendship with George Wickham."
At the mention of his former friend, Darcy's eyes narrowed further; the delicate pink flower crumpled in his clenched fist.
"She believes his lies, Darcy. I know this for a fact because she told me so herself just the other morning. You must admit, when combined with your constant staring at her, your reticence, your silence, and your abominable pride, you have clearly done yourself no favours with Miss Bennet."
The colonel placed firm hands upon Darcy's rigid shoulders and looked him directly in the eye. "I am very sorry, but if you truly care for her as I know you do, then you must start anew, and exert yourself in order to win her admiration. Be open with her. Do not hide behind your haughty facade. You have it in you, Cousin, and it will be very much worth your while in the end. Miss Bennet is truly lovely and completely artless. If she only knew you as I do—as Georgiana does—her admiration of you would no doubt equal yours for her."
Fitzwilliam released Darcy and stepped away. His long strides quickly carried him toward Anne, who was sitting upon a shaded patch of ground enjoying a repast of cold meat and fruit with the Collinses and Maria Lucas. Darcy watched him go, his emotions in a complete upheaval. He was in no state of mind to join them, and, not for the first time, marvelled at Richard's easy manners. The colonel, though hardly handsome, was extremely agreeable, and never had any problem finding companionship, be it in the company of his officers, the gentlemen in Town, or the arms of a willing woman.
With Darcy, however, it was never so simple. The master of Pemberley, though well-versed in the finer points of conversation, was still a private man by nature, and often found it difficult to make small talk with those whom he did not know particularly well. While this hindered him to some extent, especially in Hertfordshire society, where he knew absolutely no one save for the Bingleys and the Hursts, Darcy was in no way lacking in general acquaintances. In truth, he had those in abundance, but it pained him to know that it was most likely his money and notoriety in Town that had attracted those acquaintances in the first place, rather than any ability or desire he may or may not have had to interact with them on a social level.
In the distance, Darcy heard the gentle laughter of Anne, Mrs. Collins, and Maria Lucas, no doubt amused by some witty remark Richard had made to entertain them. Their laughter did nothing to improve his low spirits, and his mind continued to dwell upon the disturbing—nay, devastating—proclamation made by his cousin concerning the woman with whom Darcy was hopelessly in love.
Did Elizabeth Bennet truly have no idea that he was in love with her? Did she honestly care nothing for him; for what he could offer her? Was there nothing at all she desired from him? Could the contents of his pocketbook, or the prospect of being the next mistress of Pemberley carry so little weight with her? Did they pose no temptation what so ever? To Darcy, who was used to the coy attention and calculating machinations of London's eager debutantes and their grasping mothers, it seemed unfathomable; but he had always trusted Richard implicitly, as had his father, George Darcy, when he was still alive; enough so to entrust Georgiana's well-being to him; her very life. Is it really any different, the master of Pemberley wondered, to trust him now in matters of the heart?
Completely overwhelmed, Darcy's eyes sought the one person he knew who could bring him some degree of solace, even when it was the possibility of her very indifference to him that had caused the ache in his heart. What Darcy saw when he looked upon her, however, was so far from what he had expected to see that he could barely breathe. Elizabeth was kneeling upon the ground some distance away with her fingers raised to her lips, a look of horror upon her lovely face. Georgiana watched helplessly, her hands twisting the fabric of her gown in agitation. Both ladies were in a state of severe distress.
"Good God!" Darcy exclaimed when he reached them. "Whatever is the matter?"
Georgiana met his worried gaze with a frantic look of her own. "I am so sorry!" she cried as Darcy took her into his arms. "I did not mean to upset her, but it seems that I can do nothing right!"
"I do not understand, Sweetling," he replied, confused by her confession. His eyes darted to Elizabeth, whose countenance was decidedly pale.
Georgiana's bottom lip quivered slightly, her expression one of fear. "I…I told her of Mr. Wickham," she whispered. "Please do not be angry with me, Brother. It was for my own benefit as well as Miss Bennet's that I thought to speak of it at all, though it was obviously much more of a shock than I imagined it would be to her. Indeed, I know now that I never should have mentioned it. Oh! To burden her with something so shameful! What she must think of me for my thoughtless indiscretion!"
Darcy's eyes widened in shock and, in light of his recent conversation with Fitzwilliam, sudden comprehension. For his sister's sake, he quickly composed himself. "Shh. Calm yourself, Dearest. How can I possibly be angry with you, Georgiana, when you have acted with nothing but bravery, and the best of intentions? I am certain that Miss Bennet, as good and pure of heart as she is, would never judge you for being deceived by such a man as Mr. Wickham. Do not forget that she is acquainted with him as well, and she is your friend. She could not possibly think ill of you. It is not in her nature."
"Your brother is correct, Miss Darcy." Elizabeth's voice, Darcy noted, was painfully quiet, but the relief it brought him was great, especially when she said, "You have absolutely nothing to repine, and certainly nothing of which to be ashamed. You were very right to warn me of Mr. Wickham, so that I would no longer be taken in by his charming manners and pretty words." To Darcy's surprise, her last words were spoken as she looked upon him.
Elizabeth reached for her friend's hand and clasped it between her own. "Please forgive me, Miss Darcy, for reacting so strongly to what you have been so generous to relate. I am not insensible of the kindness of such a selfless gesture, only appalled by the depth of Mr. Wickham's deceit; by the methods that he employed and the lengths to which he would go in order to… Oh! It is in every way despicable! But, please know that I could never think badly of you for believing his lies, not when I, myself am guilty of doing the same."
Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived then with Mrs. Collins and Anne, their faces etched with concern as they took in the countenances of both ladies. Meeting his cousin's eye, Darcy slowly inclined his head toward Georgiana in a silent entreaty, then made a slight motion toward Elizabeth with a furrowed brow. For the moment, at least, she appeared somewhat better composed than she had earlier. The colonel nodded his head and extended his hand to Georgiana, encouraging her to stand, then asked Mrs. Collins and Anne to assist him with his charge.
The parson's wife glanced at her friend, then gave the master of Pemberley an appraising look. It was Anne, however, who addressed him. "If you would be so kind as to see to Miss Bennet's comfort for a few moments, Cousin, while we tend to Georgiana, Mrs. Collins and I would be most appreciative. Perhaps you might take her for a short walk. There is a lovely prospect on the other side of the hill."
To Elizabeth she simply smiled and said, "Miss Bennet, please indulge me. I believe you would benefit greatly from the exercise, as well as the solitude."
While Darcy's look of incredulity was directed at his cousin, he quickly schooled his features into some semblance of composure and turned to address Elizabeth. "It would be my pleasure." He rose and extended his hand to her. "Shall we, Miss Bennet? Do you feel well enough to stand?"
A moment passed before Elizabeth inclined her head and accepted his proffered hand, but when she did, despite the unsteadiness of her own hand, Darcy was pleased to note that her grip was firm. He assisted her as she stood, then placed her hand upon his arm and covered it with his other. Before she could protest, he began to lead her toward the opposite side of the hill.
When they were far enough from the rest of their party so as not to be overheard, Darcy stopped and Elizabeth quickly withdrew her hand from his arm. The action pained him, and he felt the loss of her touch acutely. As they looked out over the large expanse of field that stretched before them, the long, verdant grass dancing and swaying in the slight breeze, Elizabeth finally addressed him, her voice barely audible. "I am so ashamed of myself."
Darcy shook his head. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Bennet. Mr. Wickham is quite practised in the art of deception. No one knows that better than I. You could not have known what he truly is. I am only sorry that I did nothing to warn you away from him in Hertfordshire. I am afraid the only excuse I can offer for my inaction, which is in fact no excuse at all, is that my wounds from last summer were still too new, my concern for my family's reputation too great. My temper and my pride would not allow me to reveal my own dealings with him, though I now see that I should have done so without hesitation. Perhaps then you would have been spared your own disappointment. It pains me that he hurt you so deeply, and my regret knows no bounds. Good God!" he exclaimed with no little emotion. "To think that I could have prevented it!"
Startled by the fervency of Darcy's outburst, Elizabeth immediately turned her eyes upon him. "You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy," she informed him as a deep blush coloured her cheeks. "It was only my compassion that was engaged by Mr. Wickham's speeches, never my heart. The only disappointment I currently suffer is due to my own stubbornness, my own pride; certainly no failure to act on your part. Of course, you ought to have protected your sister from discovery. Miss Darcy was young at the time, and quite impressionable. I, on the other hand, should have been able to see through Mr. Wickham's act, but instead, I chose to be blind to it. I accepted his tale of misfortune without question and believed him to be a gentleman, all the while indulging my shameful prejudice against another man who is truly honourable and good. I believed the very worst of you," she whispered.
"Perhaps," Darcy murmured. He was pained, not only by her confession, but by the realization that he had probably given her little reason at the time not to believe the worst of him. "I am not inclined to hold the past against you, Miss Bennet. I can easily recall a very intelligent, very lovely young woman once telling me that she remembers the past only as it gives her pleasure. It would please me greatly—more than you could ever comprehend—to be granted the opportunity to begin again with you."
"As it would please me, sir," she said with a tentative smile as she extended her hand to him in a gesture of good faith. "As a matter of fact, at the moment I can think of nothing I would like more."
With much emotion did Darcy take her hand in his own; but, rather than bowing over it, as he knew he ought to do, Darcy raised it boldly to his lips, his eyes burning with every ounce of ardent admiration and longing he felt for the woman before him as he gazed into her own chocolate depths.
He heard Elizabeth's breath catch, no doubt she had finally discerned the meaning behind his piercing look, and resisted the urge to grin with the sudden feeling of satisfaction that swelled within his breast. Never again would Elizabeth Bennet mistake his ardent admiration for contempt, or worse: indifference. Darcy was determined to put aside his pride and show her what she meant to him; to make his intentions known until there remained in her mind not a single doubt that he admired her. From this moment forward, Elizabeth need only look into his eyes to know the truth: that he loved her; that he wanted her; that he had every intention of earning her regard, her admiration, and, ultimately, her love.
As Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley stood at the top of Button Hill on a beautiful April day, lost as he gazed upon the woman he cherished, he realized two things. One: even though he had only recently learnt that he could not always have his own way in everything, he was still obstinate enough to try; and two: Elizabeth Bennet was well worth the effort.
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