One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (14 page)

“Miss Bennet!” His voice struck her from behind as she passed the neighbor's gate, and Elizabeth stopped and reluctantly turned to acknowledge his salutation with a curtsy.

“Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth tried to moderate her tone in such a way as to acknowledge his greeting without inviting conversation. She found, when she turned, that he was already seated on his mount. He brought the animal forward slowly until he loomed over Elizabeth, and she had to tip her head upwards to see his face, which was in shadow under the rim of his hat.

“Miss Bennet, where is your carriage?” He looked mildly confused.

“The carriage could not be spared from Longbourn.” Elizabeth admitted, fearing that he would somehow detect her mother's scheming. “Mr. Bingley's carriage will convey Jane this evening, as soon as it is available.”

“Why did you not wait to return with your sister?” Mr. Darcy inquired, as though he were due an explanation.

Elizabeth squirmed slightly, for she could not be entirely truthful without also being impolite. “It is a fine day for a walk, Mr. Darcy.” She raised her hand, to illustrate by gesture the fineness of the day.

Mr. Darcy looked around, as though the nature of his surroundings had until that moment eluded him. “Indeed, it is, Miss Bennet.” He looked to Elizabeth as if he had something more to say, and so she stood patiently, waiting for him to say it. At length he added, “I rode into Meryton.” At this, Elizabeth nodded her head, not entirely astounded at the revelation. Her silent acknowledgement was encouragement enough, however, for Mr. Darcy to dismount and ask, “May I show you the shawl I have just purchased for my sister?”

“But, of course, I would like very much to see it.” Elizabeth relaxed and smiled with some surprise at his request. “Mrs. Parks' shawls are so lovely.
 
I confess that I am always taken aback by their beauty.”

Mr. Darcy produced a parcel and opened it, revealing a fine woolen fabric the color of crème, with sky-blue threads embroidered into an intricate lacy pattern, embellished with tiny seed pearls throughout. Elizabeth gasped and smiled as she removed her gloves, reaching out to finger the cloth. “Oh, Mr. Darcy!” She exclaimed in a tone more whisper than voice, “It is so very soft! Your sister will be happy indeed to receive such a gift!” She glanced up at him, her eyes shining with sincere admiration at his generosity towards Georgiana. “What a kind brother you are to do such a thing!”

Mr. Darcy, who just that morning had sworn to himself that he would avoid any further contact with Elizabeth Bennet, excepting the promised dance at the Netherfield ball, now found himself gripped by her glance. He knew he must not give in to it, this insane desire to hear her compliments, to hear her whisper his name again. He steeled himself against it, determined not to give himself away and, in so doing, cruelly raise her hopes for something that could never be. He looked down the road into Meryton, realizing he must also be careful not to raise speculation among her neighbors.

Elizabeth saw his eyes stray to the road, and she pulled on her gloves. “I have wondered since we spoke of it if you had come here. It was good fortune for me to encounter you today, for I find myself quite gratified that I could play even a token part in your sister's happiness.”

“How clever, Miss Bennet, for you to discover your credit in the matter. I will be certain that my sister knows to whom she is indebted.” Darcy was sorry the moment he said it.

“I did not mean...,” Elizabeth stammered.

“She will be most thankful to you, I am sure.” Darcy muttered, adrift in his disastrous faux pas.

“Good day, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth curtsied and spun on her heel launching into a brisk walk toward Meryton.

Moments later, she heard the clopping of horse's hooves behind her, and she stole a look across her shoulder to find Mr. Darcy, his horse and his dog all following a few paces behind her. She stopped and turned to face him. “Are you lost, Mr. Darcy? Netherfield is that way.” She pointed back to where she had come from and then resumed her walk toward Longbourn.

“It is a fine day for a walk, Miss Bennet.” His address sounded oddly apologetic.

“Aye,” she replied turning her head to the side, “that it is.” She answered cheerfully but did not break stride.

“Miss Bennet!” He called out from where he stood—his voice strangely urgent.

“What is it?” She turned, flustered by his persistence in delaying her.

“It appears that my dog would like to escort you home.”

Elizabeth looked downward to see Apollo at her heel. She stopped again and stooped to pet him. “What of your horse? Does he also wish to attend me?”

“Yes.” Darcy replied soberly. “Romeo goes where Apollo goes.”

“Your horse and dog do not compromise my delicacy, sir,” Elizabeth said civilly. “But as you well know, their master must be left behind or
he
will ruin my reputation.” She looked at him with exasperation. “Did you not once tell me, Mr. Darcy, that you never jest?”

“I find myself reformed, Miss Bennet.” He bowed to her, tipped his hat, mounted his horse and turned it toward Netherfield at a leisurely pace as he called Apollo with a soft, haunting whistle.

~*~

Mr. Darcy kept his horse reined to a walk until he cleared the turn in the road that put him out of sight of the town, and then he urged his mount into a cantor, Apollo racing ahead of them. He did not wish to think about this surprise encounter with the second eldest Bennet sister, but his usually disciplined mind had been increasingly uncooperative. Unfortunately, he found that the more he applied his energies to excising the thoughts, the more they persisted.

His behavior was inexplicable. He had left Netherfield that morning specifically to avoid additional contact with Elizabeth before she returned to Longbourn. He merely needed time to regain his composure, he had thought, for the very natural attraction he felt for her would pass once they were separated. It had seemed in the morning to be the rational course—a cathartic ride through the countryside and then an errand to the cottage of the widow, to purchase another shawl for Georgiana. That should be sufficient to keep him away from the house until after the sisters had departed.

He had foiled his own plan, so he could blame no one else for it. When he looked through the window and saw Elizabeth pass by as he completed the transaction, he could have waited a moment to school his feelings, perused the wares or conversed with the lady and her daughter before leaving, but instead he had bolted from the cottage like a schoolboy. Even then, his opportunity to escape was laid before him, for after greeting Apollo, Elizabeth had proceeded toward Meryton with not even a backward glance. That was the reason, he decided angrily to himself, that he called her name. It was the lack of a backward glance.

His own pride had sabotaged him! He had spent so much energy rejecting
 
her
 
that it did not seem right that she so easily dismissed
 
him
. It was not that he actually wanted her to pursue him, but he did want her to notice him, nonetheless, to acknowledge what he dared not acknowledge. Did she not feel the electricity in the air that raised the hair on his neck and threatened to strike him dead when they spoke? Was she impervious to the rush of excitement he felt when she was near, to the connection that stirred his blood when their eyes met? Was it so very wrong to expect that it affected her as well, even though he would not, could not act on it?

It was his vanity that had called her name, that could not let her pass unchallenged, and his stupidity that had insulted her moments later by speaking before he thought. The brief interlude in between his two blunders, however, held a moment he would secretly cherish!

His notion to follow her in an attempt to amend his error was the moment that would truly remain with him, however. He laughed aloud at the thought of it. With Darcy's first step toward Elizabeth, his dog had leapt to catch up with her, setting him on a course that would publicly violate the unbendable rules of propriety. Elizabeth, he realized with appreciation, had gracefully extracted them both from the trap and generously offered him a convenient excuse for his unseemly behavior—that he was in jest. The irony was not lost on Darcy, for he had been, most foolishly, in earnest.

~*~

Romeo. Elizabeth was amused as she walked away from Meryton, for the incredibly reserved Mr. Darcy had named his horse for a star-crossed lover. What delicious incongruity, she thought, for Romeo was an impulsive, passionate sort of man, who felt so deeply that he could not live without his beloved.
 
I have caught you at last, Mr. Darcy. I have discovered something ridiculous in you to laugh at.
 
She would never say it to him, of course; no, this was a private pleasure—although she might have to tell Jane!

He had behaved oddly, she mused as she closed the distance to her home, much as her father did when he had a great joke he was concealing to spring on them after dinner. Elizabeth conceded that it had been uncharacteristically thoughtful of Mr. Darcy to show her the shawl he had bought for Georgiana—there was nothing to laugh about there, although she felt a slight twinge of envy that the Bennets did not have such a brother to bestow lovely keepsakes upon his sisters.
 
If Jane marries Mr. Bingley, then I will have a brother!
 
The thought warmed her heart, for she could not imagine a better brother than Charles Bingley.

She looked up, saw the smoke rising from the chimneys of Longbourn in the distance, and quickened her pace, eager to see if, in her absence, her father had come across some great joke to tell.

Chapter Sixteen

Behind the Parlor Door

E
lizabeth peered through the window of her father's study, as was her routine upon approaching the house. She could discern merely from the look on his face the state of the household. If Mary had been sermonizing, he bore a certain weariness. If her mother's nerves were disturbed, he would be so buried in his book that he would not even notice his daughter at the window. If Lydia were making a fuss about a bonnet or gown, his visage was one of amusement, and if some burden were pressing on him, he wore that as well. Today, he was not in his study at all.

Elizabeth entered the house and shed her pelisse, bonnet and gloves into the waiting hands of Mrs. Hill. It was Hill's face that stopped Elizabeth short, for the women looked terrified. She waited while Hill tended to her things, for there was obviously something amiss, and Elizabeth's concern mounted as she noted the trembling of Hill's hands and her general state of agitation.

“What is it, Hill? What is wrong? Is someone ill?” Elizabeth asked quietly.

Hill shook her head, looking in the general direction of the parlor, her mouth open as if she wished to speak, but no words would come.

“Is someone here, Hill? Do we have visitors?” Elizabeth guessed.

Hill nodded and whispered, “Yes, Miss Elizabeth, visitors.”

“Who is it?” Elizabeth prompted.

“It is your father's cousin, Mr. Collins, and ... and ... and ....,” Hill stammered helplessly.

“My father's cousin, Mr. Collins, and someone else?” Elizabeth confirmed.

“There are four.” Hill added.

“Four cousins?” Elizabeth blinked in confusion.

Hill took a deep breath. “No, Miss. Four
visitors
—Mr. Collins and three ladies.”

“Do these ladies have names?” Elizabeth began to feel a bit impatient, for it was unlike Hill to be so unnerved and uncommunicative.

Hill drew Elizabeth into the corner and in a low voice, solemnly told her, “They are Lady Catherine de Bourgh, her daughter, Anne, and Anne's companion, Mrs. Jenkinson.”

“I have never heard of any of them. Why are they here?”

Hill finally found her voice. “Mr. Collins is to stay at Longbourn for two weeks. The others are travelling on to London tonight. Their carriage needed a repair and is at this very moment being tended to. Lady Catherine is in an ill humor—she is most unhappy about the delay. I served them tea, but there is nothing more that I can do. Your mama is doing what she can, but nothing seems to appease the woman.”