The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love (16 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

As he entered the parlour he was greeted by his aunt who informed him that Richard had sent word that a last minute assignment would delay him for several days but that he would join them as soon as he was able.

Darcy was somewhat dismayed by this news as he was counting on Richard to be a buffer between his aunt, the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and himself. The woman had schemed for years in the hope of his marrying his cousin Anne, despite the fact that they could not have been less suited.

Anne was a sickly sort of girl who exhibited no pretense to beauty. As far as any attraction between them, none had ever existed, at least not on Darcy’s part, and he could not even imagine bestowing his affections upon her. In addition, aside from the lack of her physical appeal, she showed no particular interest or talent in any endeavour.

As far as Darcy knew, she could neither embroider, nor sew, nor paint, nor play the pianoforte, nor cover screens, nor ride. And he could not say that he had ever heard her converse on any topic of interest whatsoever. Honestly, he had never seen her do
anything
other than sit and occasionally bring her handkerchief to her nose, which seemed to be constantly running.

They gathered for their evening meal, and as they sat cozily around the twelve-foot long table, Darcy did his best to deflect his aunt’s inquiries.

“It is time you settled down, Fitzwilliam, and who better than Anne? She was raised a most proper young lady, and certainly you cannot argue her connections! And you know it was your mother’s greatest wish, as well as mine, from the time you were both infants in your cradles that the two of you should marry. Why, her dowry alone would make any eligible gentleman of the ton willing to offer for her. She would make a most satisfactory wife.”

All of these facts were related as if the young lady herself were not seated at the table, a mere six feet away.

“I am sure my mother would have considered my feelings in the matter and would not have pressed the issue. And while I find Anne a perfectly charming young woman, I believe we are not well suited, Aunt. I am sure Anne would agree.”

Darcy was beginning to think he might have a career in His Majesty’s diplomatic corps.

“I am convinced you are the last person to know what is good for you, Fitzwilliam. At least you thought better of your choice of Miss Marston. I could have told you she was not the woman for you, but I’m glad to see you came to your senses before it was too late. And as far as you and Anne not being well suited, I must disagree and so would Anne. Is that not so, my dear?”

They both looked over to Anne to hear her opinion, but she seemed oblivious to their conversation, as she had not once stopped her annoying habit of cutting all the food on her plate into tiny little pieces before allowing herself a single bite.

A change of topic was desperately needed.

“I understand there is a new clergyman at Hunsford,” he said as his curiosity could no longer be denied.

His aunt seemed annoyed at this diversion from her pointed questions regarding his marital intentions and answered him begrudgingly.

“Yes, yes, you speak of Mr. Collins,” she said with a great deal of agitation in her voice.

“Yes, Mr. Collins. I had the pleasure of meeting him on a recent trip into Hertfordshire, where he informed me of your very generous patronage.”

This seemed to mollify his aunt as she now showed interest in this topic of conversation.

Yes, definitely the diplomatic corps
, mused Darcy to himself.

“Yes, he told me of your acquaintance. He is a very accommodating young man, is he not? You know how I try to encourage young people whenever I can, especially those whom I feel can be a benefit to others. He has proven to be very solicitous of my wishes.”

“Does he reside at the parsonage alone?” asked Darcy, surprised to find himself still clinging to the slight thread of hope that Elizabeth had finally come to realize she was worthy of someone far more agreeable than Mr. Collins.

“No, he has recently wed, a young woman he met during his stay at Longbourn, an estate he is to one day inherit. It was at my recommendation, of course, that he took a wife, a quiet and genteel sort of girl; they should do well together. She has a sister and a friend visiting her at the moment.”

A sick feeling in his stomach arose upon hearing his aunt’s words. As much as he had tried to prepare himself for such news, he could not believe Elizabeth had actually gone through with it; she was now Mrs. Collins.

He reached for his wine glass, quickly emptying its contents, his emotions suddenly experiencing all the indignities he had previously escaped that night in London: anger, betrayal and loss.

That these emotions should come to him now made little sense. Elizabeth was never his to lose, nor did she betray him. As for the anger he felt, there seemed to be no one to direct it towards, except himself.

“I will invite them to dine on Thursday, but perhaps you might call on them tomorrow, Fitzwilliam,” suggested his aunt.

“I will see if time permits after I have finished reviewing the accounts,” he stated stiffly. But he already knew he would avoid the parsonage, for to see Elizabeth again, knowing she spent her nights lying with Mr. Collins, would be a torture he could not bear.

As he lay sleepless in his bed that night, his thoughts were confused. He questioned just what exactly he wanted out of this life that he had been granted. He had been prepared to live until the end of his days without ever experiencing romantic love. And until the events that had taken place in Hertfordshire, he had been quite convinced of the merits of his views on the subject.

But he could now admit he had not been happy with his choice of Alyssa Marston. Even if she had not betrayed him, he would not have been content with her. He had suddenly found himself longing for a deeper connection, a connection she could never have provided, a connection he had only felt while holding Elizabeth Bennet in his arms.

********

Elizabeth stared out the window at the rain. For the past several days it had thwarted her every attempt to escape the confines of the parsonage at Hunsford. The only departure from her captivity was those occasions when they dined at Rosings Park with Lady Catherine, and the reprieve often proved worse than the sentence.

She had arrived at Hunsford almost a fortnight ago with Sir William and Maria and, fortunately, Sir William had monopolized much of Lady Catherine’s conversation when in her company. But with his departure back to Hertfordshire on the evening before last, Elizabeth was somewhat fearful that now she would be the focus of Lady Catherine’s discourse.

Besides Charlotte’s enjoyable company, her daily adventures with Florio had been her only refuge. Unfortunately neither Charlotte, Maria, nor Mr. Collins rode, and there was no one else who might accompany her to tour the adjoining meadows beyond the boundaries she had already explored. Yet any ride upon Florio, no matter how confined, was one she was happy to take. But four consecutive days of wretched weather had made even that prospect impossible.

Still, she walked the short distance every afternoon to the stables at Rosings to brush Florio’s shiny coat and present an apple to her beloved stallion. When she returned from one of these visits, she joined her friend in the small parlour that Charlotte favoured, and they sat conversing as they sipped their tea. The faint sound of the outside bell informed them that a visitor had arrived at the parsonage. He was shown in, and the two young women rose as he was announced.

As Darcy entered the parlour, her heart stilled and her breathing ceased. His reaction was similar as they both seemed momentarily frozen in place. Their eyes had locked immediately, and the look they conveyed was one of resigned sadness, for each believed the other had married.

Darcy did his best to appear composed while chastising himself for his lack of will power. He had not been able to stay away for more than a day. Despite knowing she was now the wife of Mr. Collins, he could not resist the desire to be in her company once again. Apparently he was a glutton for punishment. He bowed to both young women.

“Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas, a pleasure to see you both again.”

The two women looked at each other in confusion.

“I am afraid you are mistaken, Mr. Darcy; it is my friend Charlotte here who is married to Mr. Collins.”

“I . . . I beg your pardon, forgive me. I was under the impression that it was you, Miss Bennet, who had married Mr. Collins. I guess my aunt did not make that clear.”

Darcy felt his heart pounding against his chest. “I wish you every happiness in your marriage, Mrs. Collins.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I am honoured that you have come to visit. Mr. Collins and my sister, Maria, are out tending our beehives at the far end of the gardens at the moment. I expect them back soon. Please do sit with us, and I shall order more tea.”

Darcy numbly took a chair. Had he heard correctly? Elizabeth was
not
married to Mr. Collins, but Miss Lucas
was
? How had this come about? He now cursed himself at the thought of Bingley’s unread letters.

As Elizabeth glanced over at Mr. Darcy, she tried not to think upon their last moments together in Hertfordshire; after all, he was now a married man. It seemed improper to be recalling such intimate moments with a man who was now wed to someone else.

But she could not help it as her eyes focused on the mouth that had once covered hers, bringing her such exquisite pleasure. Thinking of the passion his kiss had aroused, her eyes darted momentarily to his strong hands, recalling how they had touched her skin with such tender caresses. She shivered slightly as she imagined his embrace that had secured her body so crushingly close to his.

Discomfited by such fervid thoughts while in his very presence, her complexion turned florid. She inhaled a slight gasp as their eyes met again. The knowing look he bestowed unsettled her. Had he read her thoughts? She quickly turned her eyes away.

As if from a faraway distance she heard Charlotte inquire as to his health. The sound of his voice brought her focus back to their conversation.

“I am quite well, thank you.”

“And how is Mrs. Darcy?” she could not help but ask, knowing that once she heard him speak of his wife, she would finally put to rest any lingering hope. She now looked directly into his eyes, awaiting his reply, afraid to take a breath as if doing so might somehow alter his response.

Darcy allowed a wistful smile to slowly materialize on his face as he came to the realization that fate had ordained that neither of them had married.

“I am afraid you are mistaken as well, Miss Bennet; I, also, have not married,” he said as he stared back into her fine eyes.

Elizabeth gave a cursory glance towards Charlotte and hoped she did not appear ruffled. She then turned a bemused look upon Mr. Darcy.

“But how can that be, sir? Miss Marston, herself, told me in London of your plans for an immediate wedding, and even Mr. Bingley expressed his opinion that he believed you were now wed.” With her voice somewhat shaky, Elizabeth sounded almost desperate to convince him that the event had indeed occurred.

“A misunderstanding; I will write Bingley to clear up his misconception. Miss Marston . . . Miss Marston and I decided we did not suit after all. The last I heard, she had left London, most likely to return to her family’s country estate in Northumberland.”

“Will you be staying long at Rosings?” asked Charlotte.

“About a fortnight,” he replied, but as his eyes sought Elizabeth’s, he reconsidered his answer. “Or, perhaps, longer.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

The sun made a long overdue appearance as Darcy headed for the stables. After spending much of the morning hunched over his aunt’s ledgers, he was looking forward to an invigorating ride. Lady Catherine had started in again at lunch on his imaginary betrothal to Anne, and he had hurriedly consumed the cold ham and the pickled beet salad, not really enjoying them at all. As he reached the stable door, he observed the horse that was being saddled, recognizing it immediately, for he had purchased the strikingly fit animal himself several months ago.

“Are you expecting the owner, Jenkins?” he asked the elderly man, a longtime employee of his aunt’s.

“Aye, sir. Comes sees ‘em every afternoon, she does; rides ‘em when the weather’s fine. She’s mighty keen on ‘em,” he stated with a tooth-deprived grin.

Darcy decided to linger as he own steed was readied. He approached Florio, and the stallion nuzzled his riding jacket pocket, obviously remembering where he stored the treats he had brought him every morning at Netherfield.

“Ah, so you remember me,” he stated as he gifted the horse a carrot.

He turned at the sound of the stable door opening, and she was standing there, a welcome sight that instinctively brought a smile to his face and elevated his spirits.

As Elizabeth walked towards him, she noticed that, as usual, Mr. Darcy had momentarily focused his eyes on her uneven gait before lifting his gaze to meet hers. As many times as he had witnessed her walk, she wondered why he should still find it such a curiosity.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy. I see you’ve met my trusted companion, Florio.”

“We were just getting acquainted.”

“Isn’t he most magnificent?” Elizabeth reached into her skirt pocket to retrieve the apple she had carefully quartered before leaving the parsonage. As Florio enjoyed his second treat of the afternoon, Elizabeth smoothed her hand down his muscled back. “I still cannot believe he is mine.”

“Your enjoyment of him is clearly written on your face, Miss Bennet.”

“Even when I am not riding him, Florio has been a comfort to me; we have become quite intimate friends. I am very relieved, however, that he cannot speak, for he knows all of my deepest, darkest secrets.”

He smiled at her easy discourse. “We may as well ride together, unless you find that objectionable.”

“Not at all. As a matter of fact, I was hoping to find someone who might accompany me, as I promised my father I would not ride out too far on my own.”

Jenkins presented Darcy’s saddled horse to him, and before he took the reins, he helped Elizabeth mount Florio. Once she was settled, he lifted her foot and seemed to be measuring it against the length of his hand before placing it into the stirrup.

They rode out together, enjoying the weather and the intoxicating smell of spring that the recent rains had unleashed, while Darcy pointed out an occasional landmark of interest.

After a vigorous romp, they headed back towards Rosings, and just as the house came into view, Darcy slowed their pace and led them towards a large copse.

As he guided them into a heavily wooded area, the sun dappled through the still damp, newly budding leaves, giving off a hazy, ethereal feel, as if they were entering a mystical place.

Elizabeth followed close behind him, intrigued as to his purpose. When they finally emerged from the dense thicket, they were suddenly in a grassy glade where wildflowers grew in abundance. Trees surrounded the picturesque clearing, and in the middle sat two benches. From the looks of them, they had not been employed in a very long time, as they were encrusted with years of neglect.

“I was curious if this little park still existed,” he offered. “My sister and I discovered it on one of our visits, and I had the benches moved here. I spent many a summer’s afternoon enjoying this little parcel of land with Georgie, secluded away from the rest of the world.”

“From the looks of things, I would say that is something you have not done in a very long time.”

“No,” he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice, “that was long ago, before our mother’s health had so irrevocably declined, when I still believed that love was the cure for everything. Seeing this place again makes me long for the past, when the world seemed so much simpler.”

“Yes,” she softly agreed. “It is a shame we cannot go back to when life had not yet imposed upon us.”

He looked at her and studied her face for a moment. She had a way of making him feel that he could tell her anything and that somehow she would understand. What was this contentment that came over him just being in her presence? Why did he want to entrust her with his most intimate thoughts?

“Perhaps we should learn to take pleasure in the moments that life presently offers,” he said before he confessed. “I am grateful that you and I will have a chance to renew our friendship, Miss Bennet.”

She tilted her head and looked up at him. “As am I, Mr. Darcy.”

She then looked out over the abandoned park. A little paint and a small amount of landscaping would do it wonders. “Perhaps with some tender loving care, this little haven might once again return to its former glory. To be honest, I would not mind a peaceful refuge in which to retreat on my afternoons. My cousin’s conversation tends to be highly . . . righteous, and he seldom runs out of topics on which to advise.”

Her colour deepened slightly at her uncharitable admission, but Darcy gave her a look which conveyed his empathy. “Yes, my aunt’s conversation can be equally as challenging.”

They shared a smile at their mutual circumstances, and then Darcy led them back out to the fields as they headed towards the stables. Though the rest of their journey was without conversation, they seemed quite content just to be in each other’s company.

********

“Do you play, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth put down her teacup and looked up at her hostess. “I do, Lady Catherine, but very ill indeed.”

They had just finished dinner and were now enjoying some tea and iced cakes in the parlour. Darcy stood by the fireplace, finding it impossible to sit still while his aunt, as usual, dominated the conversation with her unyielding opinions.

“Nonsense, all young ladies know how to play. You will do very well, I am sure,” was Lady Catherine’s response.

“Really, your ladyship, I am barely competent.”

“Since your unfortunate accident has limited your prospects, Miss Bennet, I would think you would be wise to make an effort to attend to those little accomplishments which are wont to make young ladies more appealing.”

The room went suddenly still as Elizabeth’s eyes looked downward and her complexion deepened.

Elizabeth’s reaction, however, escaped the notice of Lady Catherine, as she haughtily offered her the usage of the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room on which to practice, where she would be in no one’s way.

Darcy tried to dispel the uncomfortable silence that followed. “Which would you say do you do best, Miss Bennet,” he asked, hoping she would recognize his private tease, “play the pianoforte or embroider?”

Elizabeth looked up at the sound of his voice, and their eyes momentarily locked as she bequeathed him a furtive grin. “I would say I do both with equal proficiency, Mr. Darcy.”

“Then I insist that you play for us, Miss Bennet,” said Lady Catherine as she turned her attentions back towards the rest of her guests, continuing her conversation with Charlotte and Mr. Collins.

Elizabeth rose from her chair and walked towards the pianoforte, eyeing the instrument with contempt. She would have preferred bestowing that look upon Lady Catherine but, fortunately, she had been reared to respect her elders. When she sat, her hands tentatively touched the keys, and she took a deep breath.

As she played in the most rudimentary manner, she glanced up at Mr. Darcy, who was now walking in her direction. When he approached, she tried to make light of her musical deficiency.

“I suppose I should have paid more attention to my lessons, but at the time, the thought of sitting in one place for an entire hour was not at all appealing. Well, at least I have proven to your aunt my sincerity.”

“It is of little matter how practiced your skill, Miss Bennet. My aunt accomplished her purpose the moment you sat down to play. She takes great pleasure in having others concede to her wishes, a propensity that constantly keeps her at odds with me.”

“Oh? What is it that she wishes to have
you
do, sir?”

“Well, for a starter, marry my cousin Anne.”

Elizabeth momentarily fixed her attention upon the young woman seated beside Lady Catherine. She had almost forgotten she was in attendance, as she had hardly spoken a single word the entire evening. When Elizabeth had inquired if she was enjoying the last few days of sunshine after so much rain, she merely responded with a slight dip of her chin. And when asked a question that could be answered with neither a nod nor a shake of her head, Lady Catherine had immediately answered on her behalf.

She turned her eyes back to his. “I must admit, I do not see the two of you as a couple, Mr. Darcy.”

“With the exception of my aunt, not many would, but every year she seems to become more adamant on the subject. Usually my cousin Richard accompanies me on these yearly visits to help distract her thoughts, but he has been delayed for several days.”

“Well then, you had better restore your little park soon, so that you might have somewhere pleasant to which you may escape.”

“It has already been taken care of,” he replied. “I hope you will employ it also on afternoons when a similar need arises.” They both stole a quick glance towards Mr. Collins, then shared a secretive smile.

When Lady Catherine looked over in their direction and observed the look of pleasure on their faces, she insisted upon her share of the conversation. Their smiles were of short duration.