Chapter 3

Once again Elizabeth had slept poorly. Her ability of late to sleep through the night seemed inversely related to the intensity of her thoughts about Mr Darcy. Not unexpectedly, thoughts of that gentleman and his letter became far more frequent when he was likely sleeping just across the park. She had all but abandoned her habit of walking out early in the morning, fearful that she would encounter him. Surely by now, any warm feelings he may have had for her would have grown cold. Her embarrassment and depression had been tolerable when she had not the smallest chance of meeting Mr Darcy again. But now that chance was no longer quite so small.

With her movements thus restricted, Elizabeth found pleasure in spending time with Charlotte and regaining some of their old intimacy. However, Charlotte cared little for long walks, preferring instead to sit and chat, and Elizabeth grew tired of confining herself to Charlotte's house and small garden. She cared little for birds or bees, feeling just as imprisoned as they were. Perhaps it was this lack of exercise, so pronounced in a young woman fond of activity that contributed to her inability to sleep.

These thoughts accompanied her to bed, and were present upon waking that morning. As she continued her musings, a rumbling outside drew her to the window. Moving the drapery aside, she observed the progress of an elegant carriage as it turned onto the main road from Rosings; travelling in the direction of London and disappearing into the early morning fog. Elizabeth thought she saw a window blind in the carriage shift downward. She wondered whether Mr Darcy might be one of the passengers within. Had he seen her watching the carriage and shut the blind in utter disgust at the notion of ever having to look upon her again? She could not imagine that he would think otherwise, and found she could not ignore the discomfort tinged with a little sadness that followed.

But perhaps she need not concern herself with that gentleman any longer. Perhaps he was on his way to London at that very moment. And if not, perhaps the fog might conceal her sufficiently. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief, adjusted her bonnet and very nearly skipped down the stairs and into the garden, so glad was she to be once again out of doors.

As she took a favourite ramble through the Park, she noticed the fog lifting here and there. Wisps of fog danced between the trees as the sun rose, burning the mist away from the sunniest spots, leaving patches of fog in the lower-lying areas still in shadow. The air was cool. All in all it was a most pleasant morning, almost magical in appearance. She lifted her skirts to run along a portion of the path, passing in and out of the mist until she was quite out of breath. It was exhilarating, and Elizabeth felt the oppression of the last weeks lift.

She walked for some distance along a path she had taken only rarely; a path leading back around to the main road. Approaching the road, she slowed her progress at the sound of voices, apparently speaking in distress. She stepped out onto the road behind the same elegant carriage that had passed the parsonage a short time ago, now stopped, a gentleman's fine driving coat hung on the open door. A short distance from the carriage, and across the road, a large farm cart sat poised at a perilous angle, its horses stamping nervously.

Long afraid of horses, Elizabeth drew back without thinking. Still, she had a clear view as a man in shirtsleeves climbed atop the unsteady cart, easily negotiating the uneven surfaces. Elizabeth could not help but admire his tall, fine form and held her breath as he stumbled a little, gaining the highest point.

“Sir, please do be careful,” said a liveried servant from below, struggling to hold the horses' reins.

“Take care yourself, Robert. Keep those horses steady!”

Elizabeth drew back, hands to her cheeks, suddenly hot with embarrassment and astonishment. She would recognize that voice anywhere. It was Mr Darcy! She could not tear her eyes away. Her first reaction had been admiration for his very fine form, and her second was admiration for his efforts. She stood watching, fascinated, with every movement. She held her breath as he stumbled ever so slightly and a cry rang out. Elizabeth's eye moved down for a moment to see a young woman crying, very much with child, supported by Mr Darcy's valet. Darcy looked down at the woman for a moment and spoke, quietly. Elizabeth could not hear his words, but they seemed to calm the woman across the road. Darcy knelt down and reached into the cart, as it moved back and forth with each of his movements. With no small effort, he helped the driver climb up and down to the ground, and into the arms of the distraught woman. Elizabeth forgot to breathe when the cart wavered on its unsteady wheel as Darcy jumped down from the cart, gracefully landing on the ground. He shook his head at his valet, and took his place along the side of the cart to help right the farmer's cart along with his own servants.

Elizabeth could watch no more. She walked back into the wood, her thoughts busily occupied by what she had seen. That a man of Darcy's station would risk his own safety, and assist these people along side his own servants, was certainly not to be expected from a man with such proud and repulsive manners. That she had misjudged him was once again re-enforced and her recollection of each and every meeting with him brought nothing but despair when she thought of her own vanity.

Elizabeth began to regret her decision to walk out, for thoughts of Mr Darcy pervaded every step until she was insensible to her surroundings. She soon discovered that she had walked in a circle, having returned to the farm cart, now poised at a rakish angle, broken wheel crumbling in the dust. She was both relieved and disappointed that Mr Darcy's carriage had disappeared. She had no desire to meet him in her current state of confusion and despair, and yet, she regretted not meeting him. Elizabeth crossed the road to re-enter the wood at yet another unfamiliar place and was delighted to hear the soothing sound of running water, and anticipated with some pleasure the distraction afforded by a new place of beauty where she might rest. She stopped for a moment to look overhead at the thick canopy of leaves, sunlight making its way through here and there. The verdant beauty of the spot gave her a feeling of peace. How surprised was she then to find not only the stream, but also Mr Darcy, seated on a cluster of rocks on the opposite bank, still in shirt-sleeves, the same elegant driving coat placed carefully by his side. He sat quietly, reading from a few well-worn sheets of writing paper, covered in a flowing hand.

Elizabeth was mortified, all sense of peace vanished. At best, she hoped to slip away quietly; but it was not to be. As she backed away, her foot became entangled in the undergrowth. She struggled to release herself, and the resulting sound caused Darcy to look up. As their eyes met, the deepest blush overspread the cheeks of both.

Darcy rose quickly, completely forgetting his letter, sheets of paper tumbling to the ground at his feet. His immediate happiness at seeing her was quickly followed by a feeling of followed by unease. Still, he could see neither revulsion, nor anger on her face. His heart beat loudly in his own ears.

“Miss Bennet.” How he spoke, he knew not.

“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth's voice wavered as she pulled her foot free, “Please forgive me for intruding on your privacy again. Our paths continue to cross, I am afraid.”

Darcy looked at her in some confusion, “But I have not seen you in at least a month – not since…”

She shook her head, “A short while ago, I saw you assist the driver of a cart.”

“Ah.” He was silent for a moment, willing his pulse to slow, breathing deeply to calm himself. “Please tell me you did not witness my unfortunate display of gymnastics.”

Elizabeth could not help but smile at his self-depreciating manner, her face suddenly warm. She noticed a patch of sooty material adorning the side of his face, rendering the normally haughty and proper Mr Darcy almost approachable. Oddly, this gave her the courage to continue. “When I came upon you, you were balanced precariously atop the cart helping to extract, I believe, the driver. I had not thought you would remain here without your carriage.”

“The driver's wife was about to deliver her child at any moment. I sent them in my carriage back to their own home.”

“How very kind of you, Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth's tone suggested surprise, her face taking on a more serious look.

“I could not allow that poor woman to give birth in the middle of a dusty road with only her husband present. Her first child, at that.” He paused, disappointed that her opinion of him had seemingly not changed after all, and said almost to himself, “Of course, knowing what you think of me, you might well expect that sort of behaviour.”

“I was merely surprised, sir. I do not think that many men in your position would have done the same.” She met his eye, a look of defiance in her own. “And I would not be too hasty to judge what my opinion might be.”

Darcy feared saying too much once again, and so he distracted himself by watching the progress of the water between the rocks. Elizabeth also watched for a moment, engaged by the sparkling play of the sunlight on the water. How she wished to feel equally light and unencumbered. She felt annoyance at herself, for she had lost the ability to form a single word, and at Mr Darcy, for his attention to anything but her. Finally, her eye caught the papers lying at his feet.

“Mr Darcy, you were reading a letter when I interrupted you. Are you aware that it fell to the ground when you stood?”

He followed the line of her finger, pointing to the ground near his feet. “Thank you, “ he said, gathering the sheets, ordering them and folding them, carefully placing them into a worn wallet he produced from his coat. “It is the last letter my mother wrote to me, I have been thinking of her very much of late.” He said, as if to himself.

“Of course,” Elizabeth said, feeling all the mortification of intruding on a private moment, “especially with Lady Catherine's death so recent. I am sorry.”

Elizabeth hoped Mr Darcy would say something, anything, to relieve her anxiety. When no words were forthcoming, she said in a tired voice. “I will leave you then. Please forgive my thoughtless interruption.” And she turned to go, taking a deep breath, and looking up at the trees, so beautiful and so quiet. She did not think she could return, despite the beauty of this spot. It was now spoiled by the reminder of another failure to understand this man. So involved was she in her own thinking, she very nearly failed to hear him speak.

“You never returned to ask Fitzwilliam for clarification,” he said.

He had the oddest effect upon her – his habit of engaging her in intimate, if disjointed conversation; certainly before she knew of his interest she frequently had no notion of his thinking, and in fact, usually attributed to him quite the opposite motive. But this time, she understood exactly of what he spoke. “You gave me much to ponder, sir,” she said, looking at him.

“The explanation, it was sufficient, then?”

Elizabeth nodded in agreement, and looked down, suddenly interested in the foliage of a small bush next to her. Taking a deep breath, she said, anxious for his response, “Does you cousin know the circumstances, that is, does he know, what passed between us?”

“Only that you had met Wickham, and that I was worried for your safety. I thought an explanation from him would be more palatable.”

“That was most kind of you, and hardly deserved.”

“At the time though, no doubt you felt I had been anything but kind.”

Elizabeth inclined her head to look at him. “True, and yes, it did take me quite a while to adjust my thinking.”

“At least that has been accomplished.”

Once again, there seemed to be nothing more to say, and Elizabeth's heart grew strangely heavy. It was useless to persist. Well, at least there could be some civility between them, and with that she must find satisfaction.

“I should leave you to your contemplation, then Mr Darcy. I hope you will have a pleasant journey.” She curtsied and turned to go.

“Many people have been fooled by Mr Wickham.” Darcy spoke to Elizabeth’s back, willing her to turn, but she walked on a few paces before answering.

“But I had hoped not to be so easily fooled, sir. I had hoped…” Her voice held a note of anger.

“Miss Bennet, even my father was fooled by him.” Darcy watched as Elizabeth stopped, her shoulders stiff and straight. He took a breath and crossed the stream to stand behind her.

“My mother was one of the few who were not.”

She turned slowly to look at him, now standing on her side of the narrow stream. She gave him her full attention as he began to pace.

“No, my mother was not fooled. My parents would not be reconciled over this, no, not at all.”

Elizabeth was eager to understand the details, but good manners would not permit an inquisition.

“My father was an excellent and generous man, but perhaps not the best of husbands and more than a little proud.” He stared at Elizabeth, his eyes dark and fierce, and once again her cheeks grew warm.

“My cousin Anne accused me of a similar trait last night,” he paused, “And if I am not mistaken, you also accused me of the same.”

Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes full of tears. “I would like very much to take back some of what I said to you that day.”

Darcy opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden sound of a carriage stopping on the road nearby interrupted any further discussion or action, and both Elizabeth and Darcy remained very still, next to the stream. A man called Darcy's name, and footsteps were heard. Darcy called back requesting that his servants to remain with his carriage.

Darcy looked down at Elizabeth with some regret. “I am afraid that I really must go.”

“Shall you return?”

“A few weeks, I hope.”

Elizabeth inclined her head to see him better, “Well, then, perhaps I shall be here when you return,”

“I do hope you will be here when I return, Miss Bennet. I would very much like to continue our conversation.” He was very close to her, close enough to see her large, and beautiful eyes; eyes which travelled across his face and stopped, a small smile forming on her lips.

Without giving much thought to her action, she bent and dipped her handkerchief in the stream. She reached up to him and wiped the soil off his face. Patting it dry, she said, “You resemble a naughty little boy, sir.” He grasped her hand, and held it in his own, looking at it, admiring it, as Elizabeth felt herself grow warm. She watched as he bent over her hand and kissed it, slowly, and the feeling was so delightful, so soft and exquisite, she had never experienced anything like it. She held her breath for a moment, her eyes following his as he spoke.

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” she barely spoke above a whisper.

“Then I shall look forward to seeing you again.”

He did not release her hand as she expected. Rather, he held her hand and turned it over carefully, as if she were the most fragile and delicate thing. His long fingers were warm, and firm, gentle. Elizabeth stood, watching all of this, and yet, not quite sure it was real. He placed his lips against her wrist. She closed her eyes to feel the delightful sensation of his lips again, although this time, her heart began to pound as his lips moved gently across her pulse. She laughed, just a little, for it tickled, and when she opened her eyes, he was watching her, his own gaze dark, and different in a way that both excited and frightened her. She felt strangely out of breath until he smiled at her, brilliantly handsome.

“I look forward to our next meeting, Miss Bennet.” Her fingers opened and he caught her handkerchief in his free hand.

Moving away from her, he bowed slightly and then turned to cross the stream in a single step, gathering up his belongings, taking her handkerchief with him. He turned briefly to give her a long, serious look; a look that made her feel unsteady. Then he was gone, and Elizabeth soon heard the carriage move away, horses pounding loudly on the road. It took Elizabeth some time to feel ready to move on. She looked around the wood in amazement. Perhaps it was imagined? But no, she could not credit the strange, warm feeling she experienced as he kissed her hand and caressed her wrist. And the odd sense of pleasure she felt under his gaze. Most definitely that was not imagined.

Elizabeth turned away from the road, and moved back into the wood, enjoying her surroundings. The fog had lifted; the sky was blue and the day had turned bright, but still pleasantly cool. She picked up her skirts and began to run, anxious to get back to the Parsonage and to dwell on her thoughts.

In his carriage, Darcy leaned his head against the rich fabric and comfortable pillows. What had just happened? Was this real, or just wishful thinking borne of sleepless nights and long, unhappy days? He had seen his Elizabeth – for in his dreams she was always his Elizabeth. And, to his amazement, he had neither repulsed nor revolted her. Rather, she seemed to be willing to see him again. He had stirred something within her – a response, and not an unwelcome one at that. Darcy closed his eyes and smiled. For the first time in many weeks, the pain that accompanied his thoughts of Elizabeth Bennet had subsided. In a moment, he was fast asleep, the deep, restful sleep that had eluded him of late. He slept in this manner nearly all the way to London.

Chapter 4

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