One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (36 page)

Elizabeth gasped, her eyes widened in astonishment. “Colonel Fitzwilliam took it? Oh, Mr. Darcy! You cannot know how I grieved at its loss.” She reached for the handkerchief that was extended to her. Her head was bowed, so that Mr. Darcy could not perceive her expression, but she reverently opened it and refolded it, running her gloved fingertips across it contemplatively. With both hands she pressed it against her chest and raised her head, her eyes were closed, but when she opened them, they sparkled with unshed tears and her chin trembled with emotion. “I was not certain I would ever have it back.” Elizabeth whispered her fear. “The lace was a gift to me from my aunt when she married my uncle. It is a very fine piece of lace.” She held the cloth out for Darcy to see it. “It comes from the village of Lambton, where my aunt lived.”

“Lambton, in Derbyshire?” Darcy asked.

Elizabeth nodded. “Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to thank you for restoring the kerchief to me.” She held it against herself again, emphasizing how she cherished it. “When I discovered it was gone, I was greatly distressed, but now all I can feel is relief and gratitude.” She raised her eyes to meet his, merely to emphasize the statement. She had no way of knowing that the ribbons of color in her irises were magnified by the moisture that clung to her lashes, although she was highly aware that her emotion caused her lower lip to tremble dangerously, which she attempted to suppress by pressing her lips together.

In Darcy's face, Elizabeth had expected to see the glimmer of friendship that Colonel Fitzwilliam had assured her was there. Instead, she discovered eyes that searched hers with an unexpected warmth and intensity. For several suspended seconds, she was drawn into them, her mind numb to all else. A sudden strangeness in her stomach caused her to inhale sharply, and look away with an involuntary shiver. She shifted uncomfortably as she found herself without words and unwilling to return his gaze.

“Are you cold?” His low voice assaulted her ears with a gentleness and a nearness that caused her insides to quiver in a way she had never experienced before. She shook her head as she unconsciously bit her lip and dared a glance upward again. His eyes had remained fixed resolutely on her face, and this time, she took her courage not from intimidation, but from the softness in his expression.

“I am not cold, Mr. Darcy,” a demure smile played on her lips, and she set the handkerchief into her basket. “However, I would be warmer if I were permitted to continue walking.”

Darcy stepped aside and waved his hand in a gesture for her to continue. “By all means.” He fell into step beside her. After a few minutes of walking in silence, he spoke. “Miss Bennet, are you aware that I am from Derbyshire?”

Elizabeth suppressed a laugh. “Yes, Mr. Darcy, I believe that
everyone
is aware of this.”

“Are you at all familiar with Derbyshire?” Darcy inquired.

“Not at all,” Elizabeth replied. “My aunt speaks of it, but I have no personal knowledge. I understand there is a wild beauty that is quite different from what is seen in Hertfordshire.”

“That is mostly true, although Hertfordshire is not without its share of wild beauty.” Darcy said, “I find that I often prefer wild beauty to that which is tame.” He glanced at Elizabeth and continued speaking. “The grounds of my home in Derbyshire, for example. Much of the landscape is exactly as nature intended, with little interference.”

Elizabeth smiled sideways at him. “Do you spend much of your time there?”

“Not in recent months.” Darcy replied. “Pemberley...,” he trailed off, not wishing to speak of his loneliness there or divulge his dream to banish the solitude by bringing Elizabeth home as the mistress. “Pemberley is but five miles from Lambton.”

Elizabeth stopped and looked at Darcy with some astonishment. “Only five miles?” She retrieved the handkerchief from the basket. “Have you seen lace such as this before?”

Darcy nodded. “Many pieces of lace exactly like it may be found within the walls of Pemberley ... my mother's touch.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth worried that she had crossed into too personal a topic and fell into silence as she resumed walking. It was not until Darcy spoke again that she noticed the faraway look on his face.

“My mother was the very soul of Pemberley. When she died, darkness fell. My father was inconsolable, and my sister was raised by nannies. I was sent away to school, and the joys of coming home could not compare to what had gone before. Do not mistake me, my father was the best of men, but his heart was broken when my mother died, as was mine.”

“I did not intend to invade your privacy,” Elizabeth said somewhat nervously. “It saddens me that you lost your mother at so young an age.”

“I would not have you be sad for my sake.” Darcy replied. “I much prefer your laughter to your tears.”

“If that is so, then say something ridiculous, and I will oblige you.” Elizabeth said, relieved at the opportunity to lighten the mood through teasing.

Darcy looked at her in consternation. “Nothing ridiculous comes to my mind.”

“Speak to me of follies and foibles then.” Elizabeth grinned.

Darcy shook his head. “I know some pretty sonnets to recite if that would amuse you.”

“That will not do, Mr. Darcy. Sonnets are dreary, mournful things—lamenting, yearning, striving but never striking a chord of humor, and rarely even of love as I perceive it. They would certainly fail to make me laugh.” Elizabeth laughed. “You may have to resort to this.” She reached into her basket and extracted the feather, holding it out toward Mr. Darcy.

She did not expect him to accept it—the offer was purely in jest, however he plucked it from her hand and deftly slid it into a pocket in his coat. “Thank you, Miss Bennet.” Darcy said, slightly smug. “I had not expected you to be so very helpful.”

“I am not ticklish.” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps you intend to fill it with ink and write sonnets with it, to prove me wrong.”

“No.” Darcy shook his head. “I would prove you right with some dreary, mournful verse, and I cannot do that. However, I will make you laugh with it. Perhaps I will add it to one of Miss Bingley's hats, or even one of my own. You will have to wait and see.”

At this, Elizabeth did laugh, for the thought, she told him, was indeed ridiculous. They fell into easy conversation and covered the distance quite companionably. They came near Longbourn, and Darcy belatedly told Elizabeth he had matters to attend to, asking if she would permit him could call on her later at Longbourn. Elizabeth, in some bewilderment, agreed, and he mounted his horse and sped away toward Meryton.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Day the Blue Vase Broke

E
lizabeth had but a short walk to Longbourn once she had parted ways with Mr. Darcy. Watching him ride away left her with a strange sensation, similar to stepping away from the comfort of a warm fireplace into the frosty air of a winter night. She hastened her steps, noting from the length of her shadow that it was later than she had realized.

Once indoors and free of her bonnet and pelisse, Elizabeth stopped by her father's study to report on what she had learned of the tenants, for there was some illness in several of the homes she had visited.

Afterward, she listened carefully from the study door to discern the location of Mr. Collins. He was speaking loudly with Mary, which provided Elizabeth the chance to seek an alternate direction whereby she could avoid encountering him.

It was not that she wished to slight him; however, his attentions had become increasingly marked. She remained civil to him, but never more than that. In spite of this, his behavior seemed guided only by his expectation of being well received, rather than any evidence of it.

She returned the basket to the kitchen after retrieving her handkerchief from it. As she was hanging the basket, Mrs. Hill entered.

“Beggin' your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but have you seen Miss Jane? She was searchin' for you a moment ago, and we thought you had not yet returned.” Hill looked slightly agitated.

“No, I have not seen her, Hill. Can you tell me where she is?”

“She is in the dining room, Miss.” Hill nodded toward the door.

Elizabeth thanked the housekeeper and made her way to the dining room, careful not to make any noise that might alert Mr. Collins to her whereabouts. She peeked through the door and found Jane alone, her face reflecting a degree of anxiety uncommon for her sister.

“Jane?” Elizabeth said softly as she entered the room. “Is something amiss?”

“Oh Lizzy!” Jane's relief at her sister's arrival was evident. “I hardly know! What a to-do there has been here today.”

“What has happened?” Elizabeth asked, suppressing her alarm.

“It all began with Lady Catherine. We had thought that Mr. Darcy had gone in search of her, but shortly after he left, she returned to Longbourn. She was in high dudgeon, for she had expected to find Mr. Darcy at Netherfield.”

“He was not there.” Elizabeth stated, for she knew he had been with her.

“No.” Jane responded. “Which circumstance displeased her most seriously. She could not press for admittance to a house where she knew no one, so she returned to Longbourn to retrieve a means to an introduction. She was most determined to be accommodated.”

“Who did she take?”

Jane sighed. “She seemed to have Mr. Collins in mind when she arrived, but upon finding Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley here, she would only speak to the colonel, until he introduced Mr. Bingley, and then she insisted that they both return to Netherfield with her at once.” Jane pressed her hands to her cheeks as if to cool them. “She was most urgently in search of Mr. Darcy! She continually inquired as to his whereabouts. When they could not answer to her satisfaction, her displeasure grew. Poor Mama, the whole conversation was a hardship on her nerves, and she took to her room nearly as soon as they departed.”

“And you, Jane. What worries you?” Elizabeth asked with concern.

“It is true; I
 
am
 
worried—about Mr. Bingley. He seemed most discomfited by the manner in which she spoke to him; he was not himself at all. When he attempted to be amiable and gracious with the lady, she said he was insolent and should show more deference to one such as she, who is his superior in every way. Poor Mr. Bingley.” Jane's shoulders sagged. “I would not have him appear so disheartened as he did in that moment.”

“And what of the colonel?” Elizabeth wondered, “Did she speak in the same manner with him?”

“She was quite put out with him over something, although I do not know what. She glared at him, looking fierce and frowning.” Jane shook her head for lack of understanding. “We do not know the colonel well, but he grew in my esteem today, for he was kind where she was harsh and he was amiable when she was disagreeable. He spoke gently to her and tried to sooth her. She would have none of it, of course, but Colonel Fitzwilliam treated her almost as he would a mother. It was most endearing.”

Elizabeth smiled at Jane's description. She would allow Jane her good opinion of the colonel and never tell her that he was the one who had stolen her handkerchief. She did hold the handkerchief out for Jane to see, however. “Jane,” she said, “I have been spared any further distress over my missing kerchief. As you see, it has been found, and all my fretting over its disappearance was for naught. I am so very pleased to have it back, especially the lace, which is now dearer to me even than before.”

“Lizzy, I am glad! Now you shall have your handkerchief for tomorrow night's ball after all! You must be very pleased.” Jane beamed. “How was it restored to you?”

“The mode is of little importance.” Elizabeth brushed the question aside. “I am curious about one thing though. Did Lady Catherine have anything to say to Mr. Collins?”

“Yes,” Jane nodded, “although we do not know what was said. When her carriage arrived, Mr. Collins did not wait for her to be announced to the household. He made haste outdoors to greet her nearly as soon as the carriage door opened. You cannot doubt the attitude of his welcome, for it was all deference to his esteemed patroness, yet we could see from the window that she was in a temper. What she spoke must have been dreadful, for Mr. Collins was crestfallen and dejected upon hearing her and has been out of spirits from that moment.”

“Poor Mr. Collins.” Elizabeth said.