Six Inches Deep in Mud

Chapter 7

I enter Jane’s room with my heart pounding and my breathing irregular, still incredulous that my conversation with Mr Darcy actually happened. His confession is difficult to believe and even more difficult to accept. But the hot spot in my palm where his lips touched my skin is clear and burning proof to contradict my incredulity.

He said he was asleep and probably did not even remember the kiss. What kiss? It was not even that, only a brief touch of my hand. If I cared to, I could probably remember occasions when some gentleman kissed my hand, at balls or parties or in farewell; I was wearing gloves during those times, and the touch of their lips was on the back of my hand, not in my bare palm. That must be the reason why I have no recollection of any response at those times and why my mind is so perturbed on this particular occasion. I am grateful that he did not remember it, as his ignorance will certainly diminish my mortification next time we meet.

My distrust of him, based on our previous disagreements, induces me to dismiss the truthfulness of his claimed admiration. But my common sense argues with such a notion. It is too convoluted a story to simply be invented. And why would he do that? Why would he take the trouble of concocting a story that places him in such a position? I must admit that I tend to doubt Mr Darcy not because I suspect he has a deceptive nature — no, of all the faults that I can find in him, deception is not one of them — but because I cannot accustom myself to all the changes in his behaviour and to the revelation, now repeated at least twice, that he admires me.

I also try to not believe his words because they perturb me. Perturb and thrill, in a way I have never felt before and in which a wise woman should not feel about such a man.

Mr Darcy’s admiration, if it is even real, cannot be expected to lead to anything more. I am well aware of his situation in life, and mine, and the fact that probably many young heiresses in London are as desperate as Caroline Bingley to gain his attention.

If he does have an inclination for me, it must be because I did not admire his handwriting and offer to mend his pen. Poor Miss Bingley; how can she not see how desperate and ridiculous her attempts appear? How must she have felt when Mr Darcy confessed to her that he admired my eyes? That was cruel of him, and I almost feel pity for the lady. I have never felt the bite of jealousy, but it must be painful. I understand better now her barely restrained antagonism towards me. How she must loathe my staying at Netherfield and my conversations with Mr Darcy. But in truth, how can she entertain any hopes of marrying a man who is indifferent to her most of the time and mocks her the rest of it? Yes, his mockery is subtle and within the bounds of politeness, but it is obvious.

“Lizzy darling, are you well?” Jane enquires when I have stayed silent too long.

“Yes, of course.”

“You look flushed. I hope you have not caught my fever.”

“Not at all. I hurried up the stairs, that is all.”

“Did you find a book?”

“A book? Oh! Yes, yes, I did. Mr Darcy recommended one to me. I had not known of it until now.”

“Oh…how kind of him.”

“Indeed… How are you feeling, Jane? That is the most important thing.”

“I am feeling well, Lizzy. I believe tonight I might join you for dinner.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! Then, my dear, we should think about returning home.”

“Yes. Please write to Mama today, Lizzy, and ask her to send the carriage.”

“I shall do so immediately. I only hope we are able to use the carriage tomorrow and the horses are not wanted in the farm.”

I feel a cold claw in my chest thinking about my departure, and I know why, but I also know the sensation is silly and should be instantly dismissed. As much as I feel flattered by Mr Darcy’s admiration, I must preserve my sanity, and therefore, I must put some distance between me and him. Once I am at home, I shall be more objective in my judgment and observe from afar whether he shows any further partiality or it withers into indifference, as usually happens with a gentleman’s infatuation.

Infatuation? Why did I even think of infatuation? Mr Darcy did not say anything of the sort! He said he admired me — or rather he admired my eyes. Surely, I shall not become Caroline Bingley, assuming more than the man said.

“I shall inform Mr Bingley that you will dine with us, Jane. I am sure he will be delighted.”

I smile as I see dear Jane blush, and I pray she will find happiness soon. If it depends on Mr Bingley only, that might happen sooner rather than later. I wonder how much influence his sisters have on the gentleman — and how Mr Darcy might alter his decision if his advice is requested.

Soon after, Jane falls asleep; her health might be improved, but she is still weak, thin, and pale, and she needs more rest than usual. I need sleep too, but I feel too restless for that.

Miss Bingley’s words sound in my mind; she was amusing herself at my expense, but she was right. I do miss my walks and I do need some exercise. I pen a quick note to Mama, then take it, as well as my coat, bonnet, and gloves, downstairs. A stroll in Netherfield’s gardens is just what I need.

“Miss Elizabeth, may I help you?”

“Mr Bingley! In fact, I was just looking for you, sir.”

“I am just returned from Meryton. I stopped at Longbourn and called on your father. I informed him that Miss Bennet is improving. I hope I was not wrong?”

“Not at all. My sister is feeling much better. She will join us for dinner tonight.”

I smile seeing his face brighten. “Will she? How wonderful! But…I see you are dressed for the out of doors. Are you going somewhere?”

“Only for a stroll in the gardens. I miss my exercise.”

“Oh…do you need some company?”

“No, thank you, sir. Solitary walks are my speciality. Besides, I shall stay close to the house. But I do have a favour to ask. Would you be so kind as to ask for this note to be delivered to my mother? It is a request for her to send us the carriage tomorrow so we can return home.”

“Tomorrow? So soon?” Mr Bingley asks with an amusing air of desperation.

“Yes. Jane is feeling well, and she agrees it is time.”

“I hope she has not been displeased by her stay?”

“Quite the opposite, sir. She is grateful for your care and attention, just as I am. You may ask her yourself tonight, at dinner. I am sure she will be happy to tell you.”

“Miss Elizabeth, if you need a carriage tomorrow, as much as I regret seeing you leave, I would be happy to provide you with mine.”

“Thank you. Then I shall only inform my parents that we shall return,” I reply, hurrying to the desk in the entrance hall to amend my note.

“I shall send a servant to deliver the message,” he says, clearly eager to help.

Once the matter is settled, I leave the house. The chilly air is refreshing and most welcome, and I breathe deeply with my eyes closed. I shall not admit it too often, but Miss Bingley was right — I have missed my walks dearly.

Although I planned to stay near the house, my steps take me a little farther. Netherfield is still in full view, but the gentle breeze seems to call and invite me to enjoy it. I am even tempted to take the turn towards Oakham Mount. I have never walked there from Netherfield, only from Longbourn. But I change my mind; tomorrow I shall be home and shall return to my usual habits.

It might be half an hour later or even less when I turn back towards the manor.

I am already in the shrubbery next to the house when I have to stop and quickly regain some composure as Mr Darcy himself is walking towards me.

I wonder about my appearance and feel my cheeks flush.

“Miss Bennet.” He bows to me. His voice is the same as when we last spoke, and he wears a smile. I wonder why I am shivering, as I was not cold until now.

“Mr Darcy.”

“I do not wish to disturb you. I was waiting for you so I might apologise again if my earlier confession troubled you.”

“Please, sir, no more apologies. As for our earlier conversation, I was surprised, but no more than Miss Bingley must have been.”

His smile broadens.

“Did you have a pleasant walk?”

“Yes, but it was rather short.”

“I was tempted to join you as I need some exercise too, but Bingley told me you were not desirous of company, and I did not want to intrude.”

Again, his words catch me unprepared.

“Oh…it would not have been an intrusion. Mr Bingley had just returned home, and he asked me whether I needed company, which I did not.” The notion that I could have walked alone with Mr Darcy makes me shiver again. Now I am feeling truly silly, and I hope he does not notice it!

As we speak, we take a few steps through the shrubbery. He does not seem willing to return to the house, and neither am I.

“Have you walked far?” he enquires as if struggling to continue the conversation.

“Not really. I usually enjoy long walks, sometimes of several hours.”

“I see… Is it not dangerous to walk so far alone?”

“No. There is no danger in our neighbourhood. Everybody knows me and that I have had this habit of wandering since I was a child.”

“Do you have a favourite path?” he asks, and I hear a hesitation in his voice.

“I do. There is a special place — Oakham Mount — an elevated point that offers a perfect view over the fields. You can see both Netherfield and Longbourn from there.”

“I see. I have never been there.”

“It is dangerous for a rider who does not know the area. I assume you are more fond of riding than walking, sir.”

“I am. Probably because Pemberley is too large for walking, or perhaps because I have not found the right companion to make me favour such exercise. My cousins, as well as my sister, are all excellent riders too.”

Again, his voice is perfectly polite and friendly, but for some reason, I feel uneasy and wonder whether there is something more hidden under his words.

“You seem to be excellent at everything,” I try to joke. “I am inclined to agree with Miss Bingley — you seem to have no faults.”

He looks at me and presses a smile between his lips. Those lips whose touch I have felt.

“That description might better apply to my sister. As for me, I thought we had already decided upon my faults — which are in fact many.”

“We decided that I have no reason to laugh at your faults.”

“Please do not refrain if you feel the desire to laugh at me, Miss Bennet.”

I look at him again, exchanging glances and smiles; I am enjoying our teasing conversation more than I should.

“I might do that, sir. And I shall remind you that you encouraged me.”

We take a few more steps, and then he says, “I understand you will return home tomorrow.”

“Yes, it is time.”

“I am glad Miss Bennet is fully recovered. However, you should ask Mr Jones to examine her again, to avoid any risk.”

“I shall do that, sir. And your sister? Have you received any letters from her? I know you wrote to her.”

“Not yet. I expect one shortly. You should know I mentioned you and Miss Bennet to her.”

I am stunned again, as I remember how he told Miss Bingley there was no room in his letter for any additional words.

“I hope Miss Darcy will not find it dull to hear about a patient and someone who takes care of her.”

He smiles again. “My sister enjoys reading about people I find interesting.”

I do not know how to reply to that.

“You seem to have a lovely, close relationship with your sister, Mr Darcy.”

“I hope so. I am trying my best to be worthy of her kind heart and generous character.”

“She must have been very young when your parents died.”

“Indeed. She was five years old when my mother died and ten when my father followed her.”

“Poor dear…” I whisper with more familiarity than I should. “Considering your age difference, I am sure you have had a great influence on the excellence of her character and her accomplishments, of which I have heard much praise.”

“I cannot claim any credit,” he replies, “but I hope I have offered her the support and affection she needed.”

He speaks with so much feeling and warmth that it impresses me.

“I cannot imagine what it would be like to have a brother to take care of you,” I say, trying to sound light.

“I know Georgiana has always desired to have a sister.”

I turn to him, and our eyes meet and lock. Why does his innocent statement make me nervous?

“Mr Darcy! I have been looking for you everywhere, sir!” It is Miss Bingley’s voice. She is walking towards us with Mrs Hurst.

“You have been absent all day today,” she continues.

“Yes, I have not been feeling well. I came out to enjoy some fresh air before dinner.”

“So did we! Miss Eliza, that maid Penny is looking for you. Dear Jane probably needs you.”

“I shall go to her directly.”

“Do I understand you will return to Longbourn tomorrow?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“I am sure you are pleased. It is the greatest comfort for anyone to be among one’s own family.”

I am certain that was a subtle way of saying they had had enough of us and wished to be left alone.

Fortunately, I know her brother’s opinion is different, so hers does not matter.

“Mr Darcy, I hope you will walk with us for a little while,” Mrs Hurst says. “A stroll would be beneficial for all of us before dinner.”

He looks trapped and annoyed, and I am sure I see him roll his eyes.

“I am certain a stroll will be beneficial, especially since you look so lovely all together,” I say, stealing a look at him. It is too brief a glance to know whether he is more amused or vexed by my teasing, but at dinner I am sure I shall have the chance to find out how beneficial the exercise was for him.