Six Inches Deep in Mud

Chapter 9

S itting in Longbourn’s library, which also counts as Mr Bennet’s study, talking to our host, I wonder what Elizabeth is doing. Bingley and I escorted the Miss Bennets back to Longbourn, and I was introduced to Mr Bennet. I feel like a hypocrite for not revealing my true intention. I suggested this call to Bingley in order to become acquainted with Elizabeth’s father and open the way for future calls.

My wish, indeed my plan, is clear: I want to know Elizabeth better, to understand her wishes, to convince myself of her feelings for me. Then to show her my own feelings, to court her, and to propose to her. A plan that will certainly face many obstacles and much opposition, the strongest of which up until now has been mine. I am confident that since I managed to overcome my concerns, adjust my beliefs, and make such a bold decision that will affect my life forever, I shall surely be able to counter others’ disapproval. The only person’s disapproval I fear and that could ruin my plans is Elizabeth’s.

At the moment, she seems to enjoy my company and looked pleased with my visiting her father. I have not seen her much since we arrived in her home because we have spent most of the time with Mr Bennet. I hope that in the coming days I shall meet her during her walks. I look forward to seeing Oakham Mount if it is her favourite place.

I am sure she will enjoy the park, the paths, and the woods at Pemberley. And I hope I shall have the chance to show them to her one day.

“My library at Netherfield is better than I deserve,” I hear Bingley say, “and certainly greater than my interest in books. I am ashamed but honest enough to admit that. Darcy and I are quite different in that, as we are in many other ways.”

“Mr Darcy is fond of books, I assume?” Mr Bennet asks.

“Very much so,” Bingley replies on my behalf. “He and Miss Elizabeth have been the only ones to use the Netherfield library.”

I feel all the blood suddenly drain from my face at such a statement that is truer than Bingley knows. Fortunately, Mr Bennet deems it of little importance.

“I am surprised that Lizzy inherited my passion for reading but not my dislike for the out of doors. Except for fishing, there is nothing else that gives me pleasure outside my library, while my Lizzy can find pleasure in anything out there.”

“It is admirable to see a young woman who is passionate about reading as well as nature,” I say. “My sister is the same. Except she is not as brave as Miss Elizabeth.”

“By brave you mean wild, I assume?” Mr Bennet challenges me.

“No indeed. By brave, I mean courageous, either when she is walking three miles to visit her ill sister or when she is debating a subject about which she is passionate.”

“Ah, yes. That would be wild, according to Mrs Bennet’s definition. I must say, Mr Darcy, that I am as surprised by your visit to us as I am by your positive statements about Lizzy. Delighted and honoured by both, but surprised nevertheless.”

“Any gentleman with a little reason and wisdom would appreciate what is worthy of appreciation,” I say, though I am worried that Mr Bennet’s perceptiveness is sharp enough to read what is behind my words.

“I am glad that your judgment and appreciation in daylight are different from in the candlelight of an assembly hall.”

Ah, here it is, the long-awaited rebuke. Mr Bennet seems to know about my ‘not tolerable enough’ reply, even though he was not there. The best defence is attack, so I respond, “I assume you refer to my unfortunate statement that offended Miss Elizabeth at the assembly last month. I have already apologised to her, and we have clarified the misunderstanding.”

“Oh, Darcy did not mean to offend Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley quickly interjects. “He just despises being in large gatherings among people he does not know and is never at his best on such occasions. And he rarely dances at all, at any ball.”

“I cannot fault you for that, Mr Darcy,” Mr Bennet answers. “It seems we have more in common than our partiality for books. Few things depress me more than being dragged to balls or parties. I am fortunate enough that getting old has saved me from the obligation to dance.”

I smile at him; Mr Bennet’s banter is entertaining, and it is clearly where Elizabeth inherited her wit from. What Mr Bennet is not aware of is that we also share a partiality for something — or rather someone —else. But this subject we cannot broach yet.

Bingley and I leave Longbourn about an hour later, and I am in excellent spirits. We continue our ride to Meryton, where Bingley wishes to call on Colonel Forster. I have met the colonel only once before, when we dined with the officers, but I have not conversed with him yet, so I shall take this opportunity. Now that Elizabeth is not at Netherfield any longer, any excuse to not be alone with Caroline Bingley should be grasped.

“I very much admire Miss Bennet,” Bingley suddenly says.

“Yes, it is quite obvious.”

“I admire her more than any other woman I have met.”

“That might be because she is serene and beautiful. But I hope you will examine your feelings carefully, Bingley, and be cautious not to show more than there is.”

“What do you mean, Darcy?”

“I did not mean to offend you, but I have seen you in love many times before. Your feelings always come and go easily. Miss Bennet seems to be a gentle, kind-hearted young woman, and your actions might create expectations that, if not fulfilled, could cause pain.”

“You might be right, Darcy. And I know about my propensity to be easily infatuated. But I also know I have never felt the way I feel now. You certainly do not understand my meaning, but please trust my words.”

“I do understand your meaning, Bingley. It is not for me to trust your words or not. It is for you to be sure not just how strongly you feel but exactly what it is that you feel. Is it a mere infatuation or something more profound? Do not forget that young ladies in London are accustomed to some degree of teasing and flirting. In such a small community, misconceptions could easily arise.”

Bingley looks thoughtful and a bit ruffled. In moments like these, I remember he is younger than me.

“I am only telling you this for your own good, Bingley.”

“Yes, I know. I shall consider your advice. But Darcy…do you think Miss Bennet has some feelings for me? You have seen us together more than once.”

“I am not the best situated to express an opinion on this matter, Bingley. My observations have been scarce and superficial. But I believe these sorts of things are better felt than observed. For instance, Miss Bennet is kind and amiable and smiles at everyone. Just as you are kind and amiable and smile at everyone. Are your amiability and smiles towards her different from how they are towards the rest of us? Are her smiles and amiability towards you different from how they are towards others?”

Bingley is quiet, clearly trying to understand and interpret my words. If I were to consider my observations only, I would say he is infatuated with her and that she accepts his admiration with pleasure but not particular regard. But how can I trust my observations and my judgment when I tried so hard to disguise my own feelings for Elizabeth? Everybody else — including herself — believed I disliked her, when in truth, my heart was aching, longing for her. How can I guess what is in Jane Bennet’s heart?

My sentiments for Elizabeth have taught me humbleness and precaution, and I shall not tell Bingley anything that may lead him in one direction or another. The decision must be his, as he will be the one suffering the consequences either way.

We arrive in Meryton and are received by the colonel and his wife. Colonel Forster is a man of probably my cousin Richard’s age, and one can see he is an officer by choice. He married recently, he informs us, and he seems utterly charmed by his young wife. Speaking of judgment and presumptions, I would have expected Colonel Forster to marry a woman more of Miss Jane Bennet’s disposition and manners, but he has instead chosen someone who resembles Miss Lydia Bennet, both in age and behaviour.

Indeed, one cannot know what is in another’s heart and mind.

***

This evening, dinner at Netherfield is less tasty and less pleasant to me. Even in Elizabeth’s absence, Miss Bingley continues to abuse her and her family, supported by Mrs Hurst.

“I feel sorry for Jane Bennet. She is truly a sweet, pretty girl, but with such connections, and such poor behaviour in her mother and sisters, added to her lack of dowry, I see no chance for her to marry well. I doubt any man of consequence would wish to be tied to the Bennets. And Eliza Bennet! Although I know there are some people who admire her fine eyes and bold manners, she has neither her sister’s beauty nor pleasant disposition. I can safely predict she will end a spinster.”

“You are undeservedly harsh about the entire Bennet family, Miss Bingley,” I reply. “While your judgment might be correct from one point of view, I think other people are entitled to have different opinions. Happiness in marriage is not always a matter of dowry and connections, especially when one of the spouses already possesses fortune enough for a comfortable life. Otherwise, all rich, young heiresses, or young ladies from old, titled families, would enjoy blissful marriages. But we all know that is not true.”

“I find Miss Jane Bennet admirable, beyond comparison with any other young woman I have met in society, and I declare Miss Elizabeth exceedingly charming and clever.”

Miss Bingley is about to object to Bingley’s statement, but I quickly reply, “As I said — different people, different opinions. I agree with Bingley on this subject.”

This silences Miss Bingley for a while, which is a true blessing, and we can enjoy the rest of our dinner in peace.

Afterwards, Bingley, Hurst, and I remain in the dining room for drinks and cigars. Hurst’s presence keeps the conversation on neutral subjects, and we all retire for the night rather early.

The first night after Elizabeth’s departure is, like those before, equally restless for me. Her image is so clear to all my senses that distance cannot diminish my yearning. Yearning — a strange word that I never thought I would use in regard to myself but which perfectly describes the reason for my unrest.

Another poor night’s sleep does not prevent me from waking up with enough energy and a desire for exercise. I know it is too early for Elizabeth to leave her house, but I have no patience to wait; I need to do something. Even the stable boy is surprised to see me at this hour; it will soon become obvious to everyone that I am behaving like a lunatic.

Autumn is a lovely season, a mix of colours pleasant for the eyes, but I see little of the scenery. I forget to ask the stable boy for directions to Oakham Mount, so I ride along the road towards Longbourn. I do not expect anything, and I surely have no intention of calling at the house at that hour.

When Longbourn appears in sight, so does Elizabeth’s silhouette. A fluttering begins in my stomach, and I feel silly again. Silly and overjoyed.

I hasten my horse towards her and dismount; I feel I am smiling before thinking to do so, and I am pleased to see the smile on her face.

“Miss Bennet!”

“Mr Darcy. You are an early rider, sir.”

“I am, and I am fortunate to have met an early walker. Someone who could, perhaps, show me the road to Oakham Mount?”

I am delighted to see her cheeks turn crimson.

“Gladly. In fact, I intended to walk there myself.”

“Then, may I join you?”

“Of course. But I planned to take paths where riding might be difficult.”

“I have no intention to ride at all but to enjoy the pleasure of walking.”

“Oh…very well,” she replies with a sudden shyness.

“I hope I am not imposing my presence on you, Miss Bennet.”

“Oh no, not at all.”

“Is your sister well? No fever…or anything?”

“No, nothing of the kind. I must tell you that my father was quite delighted with your visit and company, Mr Darcy. He spoke of you all day, which he rarely does, as he is seldom interested in new acquaintances.”

“The feeling was mutual. It seems your father and I share more than one common interest.”

“Indeed. Who would have thought? I was surprised by your intention to meet my father, Mr Darcy. Surprised but glad.”

“I hope to have the pleasure of another meeting with Mr Bennet soon.”

“You are welcome to call on him whenever you wish,” she answers and glances at me for an instant, then returns her attention to the road. “And you will surely meet at the ball. Since you both hate dancing, you may keep each other company.”

Her tone is now teasing, but I find the notion quite agreeable.

“I intend to dance at least two sets,” I reply. One with her, of course; I hope she knows that. “But for the rest of the time, Mr Bennet’s company will surely be an excellent choice.”

She lets out a little laugh. “You may try to engage Miss Bingley in conversation too since she has declared her opposition to dancing at a ball.”

“That would be the worst choice ever,” I utter, and she laughs again.

“Is your horse following you freely?” she suddenly asks, somehow concerned.

“Yes. I hope you are not afraid of it?”

“A little. Strangely enough, I love horses, but I am not comfortable around them.”

“But your sister seems to enjoy the exercise.”

“She does. We learnt together, of course, but something happened that scared me.”

“May I ask when you last rode?”

“Oh…probably five years ago, or a bit longer.”

“I am sorry to hear that. There are few things as delightful as riding with the wind on your face. I might sound presumptuous, but I truly believe you would enjoy it exceedingly.”

“I shall not argue with you, sir. But we shall never know, as I have no intention of trying.”

I say nothing else on the subject, and we walk on together. At some point, the path narrows while becoming steeper and coils around the small hill. I hold the reins of my horse, for his safety. Eventually, the path widens again, and we soon reach the highest point. We are in a large, flat, open space, flanked by an impressive and likely old oak surrounded by three smaller ones. From the high ground, it is easy to admire the entire valley opened up in front of our eyes.

“There is Netherfield, and there is Longbourn,” she says, gazing out. Her profile is exquisite, with a few locks escaping from under her bonnet, her lips half parted and her cheeks red. She turns to me, and I can admire her eyes, brightened by the exercise.

“Beautiful,” I say.

“I know Pemberley probably offers stunning views, but I hope you have found the long walk here worth the while.”

“Very much so. As much as I love Pemberley, I have discovered there is a lot of beauty beyond it that is also worthy of being admired.”

Her expression changes slightly; does she understand the true meaning of my words?

“Now that I know the location, I plan to come here every day when the weather allows and when Bingley does not drag me to other appointments,” I say. “But it will likely be after breakfast.”

“I believe after breakfast would be a perfect time,” she replies. Should I take that as a promise for regular meetings? Do I dare?

“I must return home now, Mr Darcy,” she says.

“Yes. May I accompany you back to Longbourn?”

“Only as far as the crossroads to Netherfield. I assume you are expected for breakfast too.”

I accept her offer, and we walk back together. At the aforementioned point, we stop. Both of us seem to have something to say, but not many words come out, except, “Thank you for this lovely morning, Miss Bennet.”

“The pleasure was mine, Mr Darcy,” she replies.

I bow; she smiles and curtsies and walks away from me.