Six Inches Deep in Mud

Chapter 21

I am engaged. I am engaged to Mr Darcy. To Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. My Fitzwilliam. My Mr Darcy.

I am still marvelling at all that came to pass. I am torn between crying and laughing. I close my chamber door behind me and stand there, still, as I am afraid that moving will awaken me from the dream. I have moved, though — I have already run up the stairs, from the library to the chamber I am sharing with Lydia.

So it cannot be a dream, but reality cannot possibly be filled with so much happiness. My life seems to have been carried by a storm that has thrown me from one place to another, dropping me into the deepest abyss of sorrow and soaring me to the highest bliss. The pain I have suffered in the last few days has left marks within me. I know now it was all due to my foolishness, and I am grateful that he forgave me so easily. In fact, he did retaliate, turning the tables on me and telling me that I too deceived him when in fact I was set to marry Mr Collins. That was harsh but well deserved, considering how I had hurt and offended him with my doubts. How could I have been so…so…foolish?

I have not been myself lately. Since I first heard of his love and admiration for me. And since I discovered this strange, overwhelming, beautiful, tormenting feeling growing inside me. Like a velvety rose with thorns — beautiful, alluring, inviting you in with its intoxicating scent yet so hurtful at times. I have lost my heart to Mr Darcy and my mind and my wit to everything around me. Oh, how Papa would laugh at me if he knew the entire story! Papa! Poor Papa; he will be stunned when he hears the truth. Fitzwilliam will go and talk to him today. And I must ask for Mr Jones’s approval to take Lydia home. I cannot stay here once Papa gives us his blessing. I know he admires Mr Darcy, and I am sure he will readily approve of the engagement, but I believe he will be disappointed and even a bit upset that I hid everything from him. Jane will be amazed, and Mama — good Lord, I hope Fitzwilliam will not be there when Mama hears the truth.

“Lizzy, where have you been? I want to sleep more. I am so tired. And hungry! I cannot wait to eat something! And then I shall rest some more.”

“Here, I have brought you some biscuits, and if you wish, you may have some tea. Then go back to sleep. It is still very early. How is your ankle? Are you still in much pain?”

“It still hurts a little… And Lizzy, you should—”

“Hush. I shall give you some more medicine so you can rest.”

Half an hour later, after I have nurtured Lydia and she has fallen asleep anew, my restlessness returns. I should sleep too, I know. Fitzwilliam said we both need rest, and he was right, of course. But I cannot possibly lie in bed knowing I have just taken the first step to happiness. I am speaking like a novel! I should laugh at myself, but I cannot help it, and in any case, no book has ever described how I felt or how I feel now.

Or maybe there is one…

“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.”

Less than four hours has passed since the ball ended, and I assume the family will sleep for a long time. I need something to clear my mind and to relieve the sudden heat within my body. On an impulse, I hastily put on my coat over my gown — and before talking myself out of it, pull on my bonnet, my gloves, and my slippers —and creep out of the sleeping manor. Nobody seems to be awake in the house except some servants I can hear downstairs. How good would a cup of coffee be now? Fitzwilliam had a full pot in the library, and neither of us drank any. I am humming already, imagining the aroma — which will probably be gone by now — and the flavour of it when I taste it… I shall, as soon as I return. For now, I am just happy to be out of doors.

It is cold, as cold as a late November early morning should be. There is some mist rising, and the ground is slippery from the frost, more slippery than I expected it to be, and I realise this is further proof that I have completely lost my senses! I am still wearing my evening gown — for a trunk for me and Lydia will only be sent before breakfast if Jane wakes up earlier than the rest of my family — but also my dance slippers since they were the only shoes I had with me.

I walk for a little while, careful not to slip, with the wind brushing my face, thinking of my turmoil from the day before. My mistrust, besides hurting Fitzwilliam, also ruined our first dance together and what could have been a wonderful memory. Headstrong, foolish girl!

I am walking along what I know to be the path to Oakham Mount, although I cannot yet see the hill and have no intention of going there. It is also the shortest route to Longbourn, which I took when I came to take care of Jane. Now, here I am again, taking care of Lydia. Fate seems to know how to push me onto the right path.

I do not walk any farther. Just beyond the edge of Netherfield’s formal gardens, I stop and sit on a stump. Everything is still and utterly silent around me except for the sound of the wind, and I close my eyes, breathing deeply for a few seconds, enjoying the calmness and the fresh, cold air. I startle when I hear steps, and my heart bursts with joy when I feel, rather than see, that it is him , the very man who has stirred my whole existence.

“What are you doing here? Why are you not sleeping?” I ask, standing up. He closes his arms around me.

“I could ask you the same, Miss Bennet,” he replies, his voice raspy, his lips brushing over my ear. I quiver, even though I feel so warm in his arms.

“I am too anxious to sleep. But you must be more tired than I am. How did you find me? And where have you come from? You did not follow me, did you?”

“No, I avoided following you, for discretion, but I came down that path, there. I planned to meet you as soon as I was certain we could not be seen from the house.”

I laugh, caressing his face.

“You seem to have learnt the little secrets of Netherfield, Mr Darcy, and how to use them to your benefit.”

“I accept the charge, Miss Bennet,” he says, but I cannot reply as I feel my lips captured by his.

He takes us both to the stump where I was sitting, but there is no room for both of us, so he places me in his lap. I am sitting on his right thigh, while his hands hold me tight, and I put my arms round his neck.

“I shall send for Mr Jones after breakfast,” I whisper between kisses. “I hope we shall return home today.”

“Should I wait and talk to your father after you return to Longbourn?”

“Let us wait for Mr Jones’s conclusion. But I think you should speak to Papa today, regardless. He will be stunned…you must be prepared that he might make it hard for you.”

“I am prepared for anything, my love,” he whispers back. His lips abandon mine at times, and I feel them travelling over my face, then lower, to my jaw, my throat, wherever he can find a spot not covered, while his hands caress my body, burning my skin through the thick fabric of my coat. How can a touch through my coat be so powerful, so delightful?

I shiver when I feel a trace of heat on my neck, then lower, and I realise the first buttons of my coat have been opened — which I shamelessly love. His kisses stop at the edge of my dress, and there, I feel his tongue tasting my skin. I grasp him with my arms, as I am certain I shall faint.

“My love, we should return now, before you catch your death. Your coat is not warm enough, and do not think I have not observed your slippers,” he suddenly says in a teasing but breathless voice, putting some distance between us. I am still in his arms, on his lap, but I feel cold and shamelessly disappointed.

“Of course,” I whisper.

He stands — we both do — and he gently cups my face with his strong palms. Only then do I notice he is not wearing any gloves.

“Let me repair this for you since I caused the damage,” he whispers as he arranges my bonnet and buttons my coat. “I shall wait here until you return to the house. I shall walk towards the stables and enter from there, to avoid any indiscretion.”

I only smile and nod.

“Elizabeth? Have you considered a wedding date? Your father might ask me.”

“Oh…I have not… Everything is so new and I… Have you?”

He laughs at me, and his gaze darkens.

“I have! Many, many times. For me, as soon as possible would not be too soon. I could purchase a licence, and we could be married in a se’nnight,” he teases me.

I look at him, and my cheeks are burning.

“As soon as possible would be perfect, Mr Darcy,” I say, then turn my back to him and walk away so he cannot read on my burning face my mortifying thoughts when I imagine our wedding night being in only a few days.

I return to Netherfield, and before I do anything else, I ask a maid to send up some food for Lydia since she will not be able to attend breakfast. I also ask for coffee, smiling at the very word.

When I enter the room, Lydia is still asleep, and I take off my coat and bonnet, absently placing them on a chair. As I undress, I notice that my shoes have left dirty marks on the carpet, and I cringe at what Miss Bingley might say should she see them. I take my slippers off as well, placing by the fire to dry and wiggling my stockinged toes to warm them a bit, looking at my beautiful gown with its hem dirty from the mud — though it is not quite six inches this time. I grin to myself as I sit down in an armchair and tuck my cold feet under my petticoats. I squirm a bit and hug myself, wearing, I am certain, a dreamy and silly smile on my reddened lips.

I do not have much time for sweet reflections, though, as a servant knocks lightly and enters with a tray, and the smell of freshly cooked food, more than the noise, awakens Lydia.

“Miss Bennet, Mr Bingley told me to inform you that breakfast will be served downstairs in half an hour,” the maid says to me.

“Oh…so soon? Excellent.”

“Yes, miss. And he told me to tell you that he has sent for Mr Jones.”

“Even better. I shall thank him in person.”

The maid leaves, and Lydia begins to eat, pouting from time to time over her bad luck at the ball.

“At least you had the chance to dance with Wickham, but I could not! It is not fair! And I had every set engaged! It is not fair at all! I must ask Mr Bingley for another ball. Perhaps he will marry Jane, and then I shall ask him to have balls every month!”

My sister keeps chattering, but I hardly answer her as I am busy preparing myself.

My appearance is rather poor; I have no choice but to wear the gown I wore to the ball, which is now dirty, to breakfast. But I can do nothing else but smile about it.

It will have to do. The dress’s wrinkles are impossible to smooth, no matter how many times I run my hands over them. The bodice of my gown is tolerable, I suppose, even to the most observant eye, and I have no doubt I shall be under scrutiny from Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst. They surely need new ammunition against me. Good Lord, I cannot wait to see their faces when Mr Darcy announces our engagement. Yes, I know I am being mischievous, but I grin to myself once again.

There is no time to do anything about my hair; the wind has loosened it from its pins. I can certainly understand now the utility of such an elaborate headdress as Miss Bingley usually displays — it allows one to overlook the hair underneath and covers every gauche coiffure!

Unfortunately, I cannot procure one even if I want it, and there is no time for a maid to come either, so I must content myself with a simpler arrangement, which suits me well enough. My only interest is to know he enjoys my appearance, and I trust he will.

“You look lovely, Lizzy! I cannot believe you went for a walk today. You have ruined your gown, and Mama will be too upset to purchase you another one.”

“Perhaps. But I am quite certain Mama will forgive me.”

“I doubt it! Lizzy, but what are those red patches on your neck?”

My face is burning, and I hurry to the mirror.

“Oh, it is nothing. It might be from the wind, or from my coat. I shall put my shawl on.”

There are indeed some pink blotches on the upper sides of my breasts, as the mirror shows me, matching those on my cheeks, although those are becoming redder by the second!

There is more damage than I realised, and I need some time to cover myself with my parsley patterned gold shawl, which was appropriate for the ball but not for breakfast.

But it will have to do for now, I repeat to myself as I leave the room and walk downstairs with my heart racing.