Coincidence Page 6

  “Furthermore, Darcy and I do not wish to marry—or at least we do not wish to marry each other. I am afraid my mother is destined to be disappointed.”

  While Elizabeth digested this forceful response, Charlotte only smiled at Miss de Bourgh. “That is quite interesting to hear. Your mother seems to be set on the match.”

  Miss de Bourgh rolled her eyes. “My mother is set on many things. But Darcy will never relent, so it is of little matter.”

  Between the woman’s words, Elizabeth thought she detected a note of relief in Miss de Bourgh’s tone. It was clear that she did not wish to marry Mr. Darcy—and with that Elizabeth could commiserate with ease—but Miss de Bourgh counting on Mr. Darcy to ensure her mother’s plans never came to fruition was interesting. Elizabeth could not blame her—living with Lady Catherine could not be easy, and she could well understand Miss de Bourgh’s desire to avoid provoking her mother’s ire. Her life would quickly become uncomfortable, Elizabeth thought.

  “Then we wish both you and your cousin luck in finding your separate matches,” said Charlotte.

  “Thank you,” said Miss de Bourgh. “I have hope that Darcy will find his soon.” The woman turned and looked at Elizabeth. “Darcy is a good man, kind, honorable, generous, and intelligent. I believe he requires a wife who would challenge him, one who would keep him interested, discuss literature with him, and share the management of his properties. I am afraid that I could never be a match for him, nor would I wish it.”

  Once again Charlotte turned and directed a significant look at Elizabeth. It was not difficult to discern her thoughts. But Elizabeth only shook her head, warning Charlotte to behave herself.

  “That is a flaming character you give your cousin,” said Elizabeth, directing an arch look at Miss de Bourgh designed to remove the perceived sting from her words. “I have always thought that Mr. Darcy was the sort of man who dictated his will and expected to be obeyed.”

  “And I am not surprised you would think that,” said Miss de Bourgh. “Darcy has been his own master for more than five years now, and he is accustomed to managing his affairs himself. But if you ask his sister, she will tell you that he is quick to indulge her whenever she asks, and he is as easy tempered as anyone I have ever met, when he is among those he truly loves, and who love him in return.

  “In fact,” said Miss de Bourgh, the woman watching her, not taking her eyes off Elizabeth’s countenance, “I always thought that Darcy would be a marvelous lover, as he would be solicitous and kind. Perhaps many courtships are ruled by banal conversation, coquettish behavior, not to mention an excessive interest in matters of a pecuniary nature. But I believe that Darcy’s true interest in a woman will be betrayed when he takes the time to speak to her about subjects of interest to them both. His mother and father were a love match—he desires the same.”

  This was not the picture Elizabeth had of the man, but though she was not certain what to make of Miss de Bourgh’s words, she did not say anything to contradict her. Surely she was blinded by her perception of a man who was a member of her own family. But it was not Elizabeth’s place to disparage her cousin.

  The conversation was desultory in nature from that point, and though Elizabeth often felt Miss de Bourgh’s eyes upon her, she ignored the woman’s scrutiny. When she was finished drinking her tea, Miss de Bourgh thanked Charlotte for her hospitality and went away.

  “Well, what do you think of that, Lizzy?” asked Charlotte when they were once again alone.

  “I think nothing of it,” said Elizabeth, deflecting her friend’s teasing. “If Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh decide that they do not wish to marry, I am sure it is nothing to me.”

  “Perhaps it is something to you. Her glances at you in particular seemed to suggest that she is aware of something you are not. Will you not give thought to the possibility that Mr. Darcy admires you?”

  “I am sure it cannot be the case,” replied Elizabeth, happy that Maria had returned to her room when Miss de Bourgh had departed. “And even if it was, I am sure it would not affect me. You know what I feel about the man, Charlotte. Please do not insinuate something which shall never be.”

  The look with which Charlotte regarded her was expressive, but fortunately for Elizabeth’s peace of mind, she did not say anything further. It was fortunate, indeed, for Elizabeth was on the verge of becoming cross with her friend.

  Chapter V

  Love makes a man do strange things, and before that moment, Darcy had never truly understood that adage. Given, however, the fact that he stood in the foliage some distance from the parsonage, watching the house, looking for any sign of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s imminent departure, he could not deny the fact that he was as apt to be affected by this strangeness as any.

  Days of thinking about Miss Bennet, considering what he knew of her, her dislike of him, his passionate regard—which seemed unlikely to fade away—had left him feeling irritable. It was the sensation of not being in control which left him feeling that way, Darcy decided. He had always behaved with circumspection and soberness of thought, and in part he knew the reason for this was because of how Wickham had always been the exact opposite. But it had always served him well, regardless of the reason for it.

  Now, however, he seemed to be at the mercy of his passions, and it left him unsettled. For a time, he had been almost upset with Miss Bennet herself, for was she not the author of his current troubles?

  But reason soon took over. He knew that she could not be blamed for his perturbation of spirit. The woman had no notion of the effect she had on him—she did not even like him!

  In the end, it truly did not signify. Miss Elizabeth had invaded his mind, slipping in through cracks in his defenses. He thought of her when he least expected to do so, usually in the most incongruous moments. Only the previous evening he had suddenly smiled, as the thought of what Miss Elizabeth might say concerning his aunt’s continued silliness entered his mind, prompting the woman herself to comment on his sudden joviality. Lady Catherine had obviously thought his resistance against marrying Anne was weakening because of it, if her self-satisfied expression after the fact had been any indication. Darcy could well imagine what she would say if she knew the true reason for his sudden mirth!

  In his ruminations the previous days, a notion had entered his mind, and he had grasped hold of it like a man caught in a maelstrom clutches a branch, and he knew that though he had no true idea of how to proceed, he wished to improve her opinion of him. Speaking to her on her walks seemed to be a perfect opportunity to begin his campaign.

  So immersed was Darcy in his thoughts that he almost missed the sudden splash of color which appeared against the drab walls of the parsonage, and he focused his eyes on the house, noting that Miss Bennet had, indeed, emerged, and was now walking toward the lane. No doubt she would cross and enter the woods south of Rosings, and could soon be found within its confines. Almost against his will, Darcy grinned—he would meet her in the park. He could hardly wait.

  Suspecting she would walk her favorite path, Darcy turned and slipped back into the woods at his back. He soon struck a small path through the trees which would take him to the wider path he knew that she preferred. If he reached it in time, he could be on the path before she made her way there, and he could then approach her from the opposite direction, and then turn and walk with her. It was perfect, as long as she acted as he had predicted.

  When he reached the main path, Darcy strode south toward where he expected she would soon be walking herself. A sense of anticipation came over him, and though he continued for several long minutes, he did not see her, and the expectation became nigh unbearable. Where had the woman gone?

  A few moments later he walked around a bend, and there beside the trail, looking at some wildflowers, crouched Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She was dressed in a muslin gown of pale yellow, over which she was wearing a rich brown spenser, with matching bonnet and gloves. Darcy had seen this particular outfit before; it became her well, indee
d. And that morning she appeared lovelier than Darcy had ever before seen her.

  As he stepped forward, a greeting spilling forth from his mouth, Darcy decided that regardless of what she thought of him now, he did not wish to let her go. He would change her opinion of him. There was no other choice.

  The voice of a man hailing her startled Elizabeth, and she stood from where she was admiring a patch of lovely bluebells. It was Mr. Darcy.

  Cursing the mischance which had led the man to be walking the path Elizabeth preferred—again!—Elizabeth pushed her resentment aside and curtseyed in response to his bow. What was this ill fortune, this coincidence which led him to her company day after day? If the man had not been before her at that very moment, Elizabeth might have found some relief in saying some unladylike words, words which her father would be horrified to learn that she even knew.

  “Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “I am surprised to see you again, sir.”

  “It is a happy circumstance, to be certain,” said Mr. Darcy, his countenance betraying no more than it usually did. “I see your previous words about your fondness for this path were not overstated.”

  “Did you doubt me sir?” asked Elizabeth with an arch smile. “It does not speak well to your perception of my character if you believe me deficient enough to tell an untruth concerning such an innocuous subject.”

  “Of course, I did not doubt you,” said Mr. Darcy, though there was a slight pause before he spoke. “My perception of your character, actually, is that you are forthright and unafraid, though you are not unkind when you state your opinion. I would not dream of assuming you would tell an untruth.”

  Elizabeth was not quite certain what to say. He appeared to have taken her words to heart, though in truth it was nothing more than her teasing nature which had caused her to speak in such a way. The man himself seemed earnest—more earnest than Elizabeth could ever remember him being.

  “It is gratifying to have a man ponder my words with the seriousness with which they were intended.”

  “You have ever been a rational being, Miss Bennet.”

  “Thank you,” said Elizabeth, not certain what to say.

  “Shall we take this way together, then?” asked Mr. Darcy, gesturing back toward the way from which he had come.

  Feeling a hint of contrariness come over her, Elizabeth said: “But you have just come from that direction, sir? Do you not wish to continue your walk, see those sights you have not already seen?”

  Mr. Darcy paused for a moment, and Elizabeth thought, with savage glee, that she had confounded him. He soon seemed to push past it, as he favored her with a look she could only call conciliatory. Elizabeth did not understand the man any more now than she ever had.

  “Do you not think that I have walked these woods ere now?” asked he, his mouth twisted up in amusement. “Forward or back, it makes no difference. I would rather walk with you, as I find your conversation to be interesting. Shall we not walk together?”

  Feeling strangely flattered—and not enjoying it at all—Elizabeth assented. She walked forward, and though Mr. Darcy paused for a moment, in seeming indecision, he did not offer her his arm. Instead, he fell into step beside her, his arms clasped behind his back, his body turned slightly toward her, as if he intended to give her his full attention.

  Elizabeth was more than a little confused at his behavior. It was possible that Mr. Darcy’s greater ease in company at Rosings—though it was, in truth, not a large difference from what she witnessed in Hertfordshire—was nothing less then what Mr. Bingley had mentioned that night at Netherfield; Mr. Darcy was, perhaps, simply more comfortable in the company of people who were well known to him. That did not excuse his general incivility, of course, or the rudeness he had displayed toward Elizabeth herself. But it did explain the present circumstances.

  If that is the case, thought Elizabeth, am I now considered one of those who are well known to him?

  Though perhaps the man’s behavior might suggest such a conclusion, Elizabeth could not fathom it. No, it must be nothing more than Mr. Darcy’s disinclination for his aunt’s company and his boredom. Before his coming to Rosings, Elizabeth might have thought that the two were made for one another, but now, having seen them in company together, she rather thought she preferred Mr. Darcy’s quiet contempt to Lady Catherine’s overt arrogance.

  The thought produced a giggle which Elizabeth was not quite able to control, and she was not surprised when it drew Mr. Darcy’s attention, as they had not spoken since they began walking together.

  “Does something amuse you, Miss Bennet?”

  “A stray thought, Mr. Darcy—nothing more.”

  Though she thought he might insist upon hearing it, Mr. Darcy evidently decided it was inconsequential, though he did not return to silence as she had thought he would.

  “We have canvassed the fact that you are drawn to nature, Miss Bennet. Dare I ask whether you prefer Hertfordshire or Kent?”

  For a moment, Elizabeth almost thought Mr. Darcy was attempting to tease her. But knowing that could not be true, she replied: “Oh, Hertfordshire, without a doubt, sir.”

  Mr. Darcy eyed her, amusement evident in his gaze. “You speak of the matter decidedly. I might have thought you would give my aunt’s estate the benefit of at least a modicum of beauty.”

  “Rosings is very beautiful, sir. I do not dispute that.”

  “Then why did you answer without even considering the matter for a few moments?”

  “For two reasons,” replied Elizabeth. “In the first, I find your aunt’s fondness for perfectly ordered gardens and topiaries to be contrary to my taste. Though these woods are delightful for certain, I prefer wild and untamed spaces, and though Longbourn is also in a civilized county, there is more to explore which has been but little touched by the hand of man.”

  “That is an interesting point of view, Miss Bennet,” replied Mr. Darcy, “and one I must own that I share with wholehearted enthusiasm.”

  “You do?” asked Elizabeth. She was not certain she would have thought it of him. Then again, she had not considered the subject at all.

  “Indeed,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Though Pemberley does have formal gardens, the same as many other houses, much of the park has been allowed to retain its natural beauty. There is a lake beside my house, and visitors will often exclaim over how little has been done to force it into preconceived notions of how it ought to look. Derbyshire still retains much of its rugged nature, and in many places, it is much less tamed than counties further to the south. If you like untouched nature, I am convinced that you would love Pemberley.”

  “You seem quite certain, sir,” said Elizabeth.

  “Unless you are telling me a falsehood, I am positive, Miss Bennet.”

  “Then I will need to make certain I visit when I am able. If it is as you say, then I have no doubt I will prove your supposition.”

  Mr. Darcy fell silent, watching her with expectation. Not knowing what he was about, Elizabeth said: “Is something amiss with my appearance, sir?”

  “I have never yet seen anything amiss with your appearance, Miss Bennet. You mentioned two reasons why Hertfordshire is superior to Kent, and I would like to know the second.”

  Coloring—for Elizabeth had forgotten the original subject of their conversation—she shot him a mischievous look. “The second is simple, sir. Hertfordshire is my home, and we are all partial to our homes, are we not?”

  A laugh escaped Mr. Darcy’s lips and he allowed it to be so. “I can well understand that position, Miss Bennet,” added he. “Indeed, I would quite agree. The reasons why I prefer Pemberley to Rosings are many, but the fact that it is my home is certainly among them.”

  They continued for some more moments, speaking of the subject of their respective homes and the differences between them. With respect to Pemberley, Mr. Darcy obviously felt not enough could be said, for he was far more verbose than she had ever known him to be. It was an interesting recitation, and though Elizabet
h had never seen the estate, she was able to obtain an image in her mind of what it must look like. It was surprising that such a taciturn man could paint such an effective picture with nothing more than his words!

  When Elizabeth spoke, he listened with unfeigned attentiveness, and Elizabeth was gratified that he seemed to receive her opinion with respect. Elizabeth had often found that men would hear her, but discount her opinion for no other reason than that it was uttered by a woman. This man gave no indication of any such tendencies. It was not something she would have attributed to him.

  It was fifteen minutes after they met that the subject of nature and the beauties of their respective counties was exhausted, and Elizabeth felt herself surprised that they had been able to converse in such an agreeable fashion. Whereas they had rarely been able to speak in the past without acrimonious words being exchanged, it seemed that a subject which was of common interest to them both could promote harmony and civility. Elizabeth was surprised, she was forced to own. She had never seen this side of him.

  When Elizabeth realized how much time had passed, she thought to return to the parsonage, but before she could voice her intention, Mr. Darcy addressed her:

  “Miss Bennet, you once told me that you could not speak of books in a ballroom. Does that stricture hold for a country path?”

  Startled, Elizabeth looked at the man, wondering if he was truly attempting to tease her. As ridiculous as the thought sounded, the half-smile and raised eyebrow with which he regarded her seemed to suggest he was doing exactly that.

  “I hardly know, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth, her own teasing manners coming to her rescue. “I usually do not walk with another, and since I consider it a symptom of a weak mind to speak to oneself, I attempt not to do it, lest I be deemed fit for Bedlam.”

  A chuckle escaped Mr. Darcy’s lips and he shook his head. “Speaking with you is always an adventure, Miss Bennet, and I thank you for making this time bearable.”