A Perilous Match

Chapter 5

The Following Day

E lizabeth had been somewhat surprised when her aunt and uncle allowed Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley to take them to Hyde Park without their chaperonage. Aunt Gardiner had been especially protective of Jane since these last months, and her introduction to Mr Bingley so reserved that Elizabeth had been nearly certain that her aunt meant to accompany them as well. At any rate, she had made certain that her husband was available when the gentlemen called again.

Whatever might have been her plan, one of the little Gardiners had woken with a fever, and with Uncle Gardiner obliged to return to his office, Jane and Elizabeth were sent on their way once Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley had been properly introduced to their uncle.

Still, as Elizabeth fetched her bonnet and gloves, Aunt Gardiner had pulled her briefly aside with a quick, “Be careful, Lizzy.”

“What can you mean, Aunt?”

Aunt Gardiner shot a pointed look towards Mr Darcy who was conversing with Uncle Gardiner. Elizabeth coloured, but hardly knew how to answer the implication. She knew what it meant, though. Mr Darcy was a peer of the realm, no one in their family had such close ties to the aristocracy.

They were quickly out of the door and a luxurious landau awaited them, emblazoned with the Darcy coat of arms. The roof had been let down to reveal plush seats and a soft grey interior. Mr Bingley was already helping Jane into the vehicle.

“I thought you might prefer the open air, the day being so fine,” Mr Darcy said.

Elizabeth wished that she did not flush so easily at this evidence of his consideration, and wondered whether she would spend the entire afternoon in a constant state of embarrassment. She could not look at Mr Darcy without thinking of his proposal, the alteration in his manner, and wonder what he meant by their continuing acquaintance.

She answered with some confusion, “Thank you, my lord. It would be far too warm, indeed, in a closed carriage.”

She allowed him to assist her into the carriage and turned to Jane when he settled himself in the seat opposite to her. However, Jane’s attention was all for Mr Bingley, and they chatted amiably without the watchful eyes of Aunt Gardiner, laughing together when they spotted a small terrier break away from its mistress to chase its master halfway down the walk.

On this afternoon, Elizabeth and Mr Darcy were the more silent pair. He was perfectly polite, but his quiet almost-smile unnerved her. She felt shy of him, which she had never before his proposal.

They bypassed St James’s Park with its military parade and changing of the guard. This park was more familiar to Jane and Elizabeth for its relative proximity to Cheapside and they often took their little cousins to watch the soldiers. Hyde Park, however, was the better venue for lovers of walking and riding.

Once they crossed into Mayfair they encountered a few undeniably fashionable gentlemen who doffed their hats to Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy, and she hoped that they would not become the subject of gossip in the drawing rooms of the fashionable set upon this outing.

“Shall we walk?” Mr Darcy suggested when they reached the park’s gate.

The ladies quickly assented. Mr Bingley immediately claimed Jane’s hand, leaving Elizabeth to Mr Darcy. She could not meet his eye as he helped her alight.

The walk along the Serpentine was less crowded than usual. The morning’s shower had, no doubt, discouraged many ladies and gentlemen from venturing out lest they mar their boots and dress with mud. It was many hours, yet, before the fashionable crowd would descend upon the park. Thus, their small party had an unusual measure of privacy, which suited Elizabeth just fine.

They allowed Jane and Mr Bingley to outstrip them.

Mr Darcy’s mourning apparel made him an object of interest for the few venturing out into Hyde Park that morning, especially among the ladies who openly stared at the new Lord Dorset accompanying two unknown genteel women.

Mr Darcy did not offer his arm as they walked together and kept a perfectly respectable distance between them. She thought of their walks at Rosings, and wondered whether he was also reminded, and knew not where to look. It was not a comfortable silence between them, and Elizabeth was thinking how she may break it, when he spoke in the same deliberately light tone he had adopted the day before.

“One might—ought—to speak a little during a long walk such as this. It would be odd to be entirely silent for the afternoon, would it not, Miss Elizabeth?”

She was startled by the allusion to their past and what she had assumed could not be a pleasant recollection. Yet, his expression was mild when she risked meeting his eyes. “Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?”

Mr Darcy smiled at this parry of his words. “Both, I imagine.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and relaxed. If he was determined to be agreeable, she would not be the one to make them awkward.

“They seem far less shy of one another today,” she remarked, gesturing towards Jane and Mr Bingley. As they emerged round the bend of the Serpentine, the sun hit the surface of the water casting a blinding reflection. She opened her parasol to shield them both.

“I am afraid that I gave Bingley very little notice of our visit yesterday,” he admitted.

“Your visit was a surprise to all of us.”

Mr Darcy stopped and Elizabeth turned to face him.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he ventured with some hesitation, “may we speak frankly?”

Elizabeth twisted the parasol’s handle nervously and hoped that he did not mean to discuss the particulars of their quarrel. “Yes, I suppose… yes.”

Mr Darcy looked off into the distance. Jane and Mr Bingley were far ahead, though they walked slow enough. Mr Bingley’s head was angled towards her sister, as though they were sharing some confidence or merely listening intently.

“I never meant to injure your sister or my friend,” he began. “I believed that I was acting in his best interest at the time and I was wrong.”

“I should not have accused you of acting out of caprice,” she conceded.

“In what other way could you have viewed my interference?” he said. “My actions were beneath me and I heartily regret them.”

Elizabeth twirled her parasol in her need to fidget. His profile was solemn, soft somehow and wounded. She could not disagree with his words. “Mr Darcy,” she began.

He turned back to her with a wry smile and she realised her mistake.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Dorset,” she said.

“Do not apologise for that, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “Whenever I hear Lord Dorset, I expect to see my aged uncle somewhere abouts.”

“I am very sorry for your loss, my lord.”

“My loss,” he echoed dryly.

What could he mean by that tone? She had no right to ask, of course; still, she ventured, “Are you… are you alright, my lord?”

His gaze slid back to her momentarily and after a beat, he answered, “Perfectly, I am perfectly fine.”

She did not believe him. He was still pale and rather thinner than he had been in Kent, and though she could not say why, she wondered whether her rejection was responsible for part of this change. She scolded herself for this precious piece of vanity. The man was in mourning. Yet, when he looked at her with such intensity and softness, it did not seem like vanity.

They walked on, Mr Darcy’s hands clasped behind his back and Elizabeth twirling her parasol. She kept sneaking glances at his profile. He was very handsome. She could acknowledge it in the privacy of her own mind and felt a little proud for having attracted the notice of such a man.

The acknowledgement did not seem like a betrayal with Mr Bingley and Jane walking ahead and remedying one of the faults she had hurled at his person.

“I confessed all to Bingley,” he said, as though echoing her thoughts.

“Oh?” she said. “That cannot have been a comfortable conversation.”

“He was angry, of course.”

“Mr Bingley did not appear angry at all yesterday.”

“As I said, I gave him little time to be angry,” he said, explaining that his own business precluded visiting for the next few days and he did not want to waste any more time lest Mr Bingley should be obliged to accept an invitation to visit the Hursts in the country.

“He is too good-natured to remain angry with anyone,” he added.

This Elizabeth could believe.

She risked laying a hand gently upon his arm. He jumped at the touch, halting their progress. His gaze remained reverently upon her small, gloved hand, which she hastily moved away in embarrassment.

“Thank you, my lord.” She began to walk again, but he drew her back with a gentle touch to her elbow. She shivered.

“There is one other matter I would speak with you about,” he said.

Elizabeth understood immediately. “Mr Wickham?”

“I know not what sort of falsehoods Wickham has told you, Miss Elizabeth, but he does not deserve your approbation. He is not an honourable man.”

There was an awful dread in the pit of her stomach that recalled her own latest suspicions of Mr Wickham. His mercenary pursuit of Miss King had never slowed his flirtations in Meryton. It did not speak well of his character nor his constancy, and while she did not begrudge handsome young men seeking their fortunes in prudent matches, she could not tolerate such flagrant disrespect.

Whatever Mr Darcy might have said, however, was delayed, for they met another of his acquaintances.

A curricle was almost upon them, its passengers elderly, and evidently fond of Mr Darcy. They smiled at him and he seemed less disposed to avoid their overtures than others they had encountered that day.

“Fitzwilliam!” the lady called. “It is good to catch you in the park, for I’ve rarely been successful at your home.”

Mr Darcy bowed, “Grandmama, Uncle.” He introduced Elizabeth to his grandmother the Dowager Marchioness of Dorset and to his granduncle the Duke of Norfolk. She dropped a curtsey, and was relieved that she did not appear so unsteady as she felt. Mr Darcy’s relations were very grand, indeed; his pride and his words in Kent were more understandable if no less insulting.

His grandmother was in mourning weeds, though her expression had nothing of the sadness she had seen in Darcy. There was a muted air of triumph about Lady Dorset and she seemed happy to meet “one of my dear Fitzwilliam’s circle.”

Elizabeth did not disabuse her of the notion and responded politely, glancing at Mr Darcy in some confusion. He gave her a wry smile.

The Duke, however, was warmer. “Hertfordshire is beautiful country. I have often stayed at Gorhambury for the shooting. Do you know Lord and Lady Verulam?”

“I have not had the pleasure,” she said. “My father’s estate is on the other side of St Albans, your grace, near Meryton.”

“Meryton, eh? There is a nice little market for horse flesh, is there not?”

“I believe, your grace, that you are thinking of Hertford.”

He conceded that she might be correct, but said to Mr Darcy, “You spent some time in Hertford last year, did you not, Nephew?”

“No, Charles,” said Lady Dorset impatiently, “that was Meryton.”

“I do believe that Fitzwilliam said he went to Hertford.”

“Hertfordshire, brother, the county, not the town.”

The Duke looked annoyed. “Is that not what I said?”

Elizabeth glanced at Mr Darcy as the pair continued to bicker. He also appeared annoyed and resigned.

“Grandmama, Uncle,” he said when they gave space for others to contribute. “Let us put this argument to an end. I visited my friend Bingley’s estate Netherfield in Hertfordshire last autumn which is close to Meryton.”

The Marchioness smirked at her brother, who was not prepared to concede the point.

“I’m certain Fitzwilliam has been to Hertford.”

“I’m sure he has at some point, but not last year,” Lady Dorset argued.

“I have never been to Hertford,” Mr Darcy responded dryly.

Elizabeth bit her lip to conceal a laugh when the pair turned identical gazes to Mr Darcy.

“What has that to do with anything?” asked Lady Dorset.

Mr Darcy conceded very little, which satisfied his grandmother.

They chatted for a moment longer before the Marchioness and Duke took their leave.

“It was very nice to meet you, Miss Bennet,” said Lady Dorset. “I hope we will meet again while you are in Town.”

“Thank you, my lady,” said Elizabeth with a curtsy.

“We should leave them to their courting, Sarah,” the Duke said with a wink. “These young people have no use for our intrusion.”

Lady Dorset raised an eyebrow and looked again at Elizabeth with some calculation. She bristled under the scrutiny, while Mr Darcy appeared mortified.

“I apologise for my relatives, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Darcy said when the Duke and Lady Dorset were out of sight. He looked supremely uncomfortable and the tips of his ears were pink.

Elizabeth smiled. “If we were to apologise for all of our embarrassing relations, we may spend the whole afternoon thus, and I have no wish to do so.”

“Nor do I.”

“Good. Let us settle and pretend that all apologies that need to be said have been said.” She was surprised by her desire to ease something of their mutual discomfort. She had been too used to doing otherwise, and glorying in those instances when she had made him angry or uneasy.

He agreed with evident relief. However, Elizabeth could not help asking, “Are they always so?”

Mr Darcy smiled ruefully. “I regret to say that they are often worse. They make a game of disagreeing with one another, which they have done for the past seventy-odd years. They are unlikely to change now.”

“Oh I shouldn’t wish it,” Elizabeth protested. “I find them delightful.”

Mr Darcy laughed; it made the nerves in her stomach flutter unusually. “At least someone does.”

She took his proffered arm as they resumed their walk. Was she doomed to blush at Mr Darcy’s every gesture?

In another moment, when they had almost caught up to her sister and his friend, Mr Darcy said, “There is another member of my family who more particularly wishes to be known to you. Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to your acquaintance?”

The surprise of such an application was great indeed, it was too great for her to know in what manner she acceded to it. She immediately felt that whatever desire Miss Darcy might have of being acquainted with her, must be the work of the brother, and without looking farther, it was satisfactory; it was gratifying to see this further proof that whatever resentment remained had not made him think really ill of her.

She sensed some great hesitation in him still, and indeed, he seemed to struggle to say something in particular, or perhaps worried that whatever must be said would fracture their present equanimity.

“If you have no fixed engagements, I would like to invite your family to dine at Darcy House.”

She could not help feeling the honour of this application and stammered her acquiescence so long as it did not contradict any outstanding engagements by the Gardiners.

“I know of none, at present, my lord, and would be happy to meet Miss Darcy and to dine at Darcy House.”

His answering smile caused her traitorous heart to skip a confused beat.