Pemberley fic, Ch 2
Jan. 22nd, 2019 08:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anghrainetitle: tolerably well acquainted (2/?)
verse: Comforts and Consequences
characters: Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy; Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner, unnamed servants; Darcy/Elizabeth
stuff that happens: Elizabeth doesn't have the heart to disrupt the Gardiners' time at Pemberley, with predictable results.
previous sections: one
Mr and Mrs Gardiner, charmed by Pemberley House, were now all the more set on touring the grounds. She had not seen them for a good eleven years, since shortly before her marriage, and Mr Gardiner never had. He said with a laugh that he’d had little attention to spare for trees and streams just then.
Elizabeth forced a smile. She would have given anything to return instantly to the inn, finest woods in the country or not. She could not, however, bring herself to diminish her aunt’s and uncle’s pleasure. Accordingly, she replied to each of their inquiries, though she scarcely knew what she said, and looked wherever they did, though she saw nothing. She could think only of Darcy.
He must have entered the house by now—perhaps made his way to the airy study she had seen, or paused near the entrance to speak with Mrs Reynolds for some reason or other, or gone to his bedchamber to freshen himself from his travels. She did not dwell on that; instead, her mind fixed on whatever might be passing through his. At this moment, not far beyond her sight, he must be thinking of her, as she was of him. Their history hardly allowed for anything else, on either side; she understood him well enough to feel certain of that.
Almost certain, at any rate. But what did he think of her? Was he angry to find her at his own home? He had once hoped to make her mistress of this place. Quite possibly it pained him to see her here. Then again, maybe it pleased him; she could not tell from her memory of his expression, and now knew better than to guess.
Oh, never mind that. Could he—did he—was—
Did he still love her?
There it was: the real matter at hand. Some people, had they known, might have questioned whether he ever truly loved her, to misunderstand her as he had, propose to her as he had. Elizabeth was not one of them. Though disinclined to overlook either his assumptions or his proposal, she could not doubt that she was dear to him—not with his letter carefully preserved, and so often re-read. The humblest declaration would not have persuaded her of love more than did the final words of that letter.
But was she dear to him even now? He had been so civil, far beyond his usual rigid correctness. Perhaps it only sprang from the comfort of his surroundings—at home, he might feel much more at ease. Yet he had seemed anything but easy, blushing and stumbling through the conversation as much as Elizabeth herself.
True, the memory of their last conversation might unsettle anyone, even someone as generally calm as Darcy. Nevertheless—
“Lizzy,” said Mrs Gardiner, “are you quite well?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, without much thinking about it. She felt a flurry of guilt at the glances directed her way. “I am very well, aunt.”
She truly did not mean to distract them from the exploration they had so eagerly anticipated. And she certainly did not mean for them to guess at anything like the truth of her relationship with Darcy, if it could be so called. Although the Gardiners almost never demanded information from her, they might misconstrue things enough to find justification for it here; they might ask questions she could not answer; they might ask for other answers that she could give, but preferred to forget altogether.
Elizabeth almost resented Darcy for bringing those to mind once again, the memories bright and sharp—until she remembered that this was his house.
With some effort, she managed to drag her thoughts back to the present place and moment, looking around with real, if forced, attention. They walked alongside the banks of a long river, its water smooth and very clear; when Elizabeth looked down, she could make out each feather on Mrs Gardiner’s hat. The woods ahead of them, rather than ending abruptly, thinned out to a leafy canopy over the path, daylight filtering down in scattered shades of gold and green. The very air seemed to gleam.
Elizabeth lifted her face to the sunshine, nerves quieting a little. She had never seen a place she liked more. If it were not attached to Mr Darcy, she could gladly spend her life here.
But then, if it were not attached to Darcy, it might well be a different sort of place.
She did her best to banish him from her thoughts again. He had a disagreeable way of filling them—not always, but far too often for her peace of mind.
The river curved away from them, and the path took them up a gentle incline, into the woods themselves. The faint greenish cast to the sunlight grew more pronounced, though it remained bright, the moss and leaves and scattered flowers all vivid against the thick bark of the trees. Elizabeth looked around herself with real interest, repressing the urge to run up the ascending ground like some wild creature to see more.
Dutifully, she remained with her uncle and aunt—both smiling in pleasure—but she peered through the breaks in the trees at every opportunity. Through some, she glimpsed the side of the valley sloping down to meet the mansion, which looked rather like a large toy from here. Through others, they could see the opposite side of the grounds rising up into hills, the woods extending from here to the hills, and into a good part of the valley. Now and then, a vibrantly blue strand relieved the deep green of the sprawling forest: the stream, weaving in and out of their vision.
Mrs Gardiner gave a contented sigh.
“I told you, Lizzy.”
“Indeed you did,” said Elizabeth, laughing. “You were quite right, aunt.”
She could not say that she was happy they had come, with Darcy somewhere down there, thinking heaven knew what about her. But if she had to visit Pemberley, she was glad to have seen this.
“For my part, I should like to see the whole park,” Mr Gardiner said. “It might be beyond a walk, however.”
The ladies nodded. Elizabeth could walk for miles, but her aunt was shorter and less accustomed to exerting herself—at least in body.
“Aha,” he said, catching sight of something Elizabeth couldn’t quite make out. She bent her head to look, and saw a manservant not far away, digging something up.
Mr Gardiner waved at him, and he strode over, his face flushed but not particularly weary.
“May I help you, sir?”
“We were thinking of taking in the entire park,” said Mr Gardiner.
The man stared at him.
“I thought it might be too long, however.”
Darcy’s servants appeared no more overburdened with humility than himself. This one straightened up and lifted his chin, his face breaking into a broad grin.
“’Tis ten miles round, sir.”
Elizabeth could hardly help staring, herself. Ten miles—that would be—she swiftly calculated, and almost recoiled. Chatsworth’s park had been a thousand acres. How—
It was of no consequence, of course. None at all. But she no longer wondered that his estate could generate so much as ten thousand a-year; she rather wondered that it produced no more. And she, Elizabeth Bennet, might have called this vast expanse of loveliness her own.
No. It would have been Elizabeth Darcy.—The estate was Darcy’s, and would remain so, and she could not have escaped him.
She broke out of her reverie again, directing her attention to Mr Gardiner’s voice.
“—the usual route, then.”
“We better had,” said Mrs Gardiner emphatically.
She looked a little tired. Mr Gardiner caught the expression as quickly as his niece, and said,
“Should we go back? You seem a little knocked-up, my love.”
“No, no. I am determined to see the whole circuit. Come, Lizzy—if my memory serves me, the next part is the finest yet.”
Elizabeth obeyed without resistance, eager to see more despite her competing desire to leave as soon as possible. They continued down the main path, smoothed down to an easy walk, which lowered into a less densely forested area where flowers sprouted up in swaths of warmer greens, dotted by blue and pink and white blossoms. They all exclaimed at the sight, and Mr Gardiner snatched up one of the nearer flowers and stuck it into the little bunch of blossoms on Mrs Gardiner’s hat.
“There,” he said. “Now you have a real one.”
Mrs Gardiner shook her head, but both ladies laughed. Elizabeth, nevertheless, felt a faint melancholy as they continued. She could not imagine a more happily suited couple—and to think that only by sheer chance had their paths crossed at all! How many others could expect their good fortune? Not many, by the examples she had seen around her all her life.
Luckily, their descent distracted her; the path curved, taking them down through hanging-woods and once again to the water, now shrunk to a small stream. A bridge, completely unadorned, arched over it. The valley as well as the river had narrowed here, enclosing the stream and the coppice-wood bordering it. Paths seemed to grow naturally through the wood, meandering so much that one could not see far into them, only past, to the broadening of the valley beyond the wood, and Pemberley House in the distance.
Elizabeth strode over the bridge and would have promptly set out to explore the winding paths, but Mrs Gardiner made an inarticulate noise behind her.
Elizabeth immediately turned on her heel and hurried back. “Aunt—”
Mr Gardiner, who had remained close to his wife all the while, grasped at Mrs Gardiner’s waist. “Miranda! Are you ill?”
“There is nothing wrong with me,” Mrs Gardiner assured them. “I am only tired, and—the house is so far from here. I had no idea we had come such a distance.”
“We should return to the carriage,” he said.
Mrs Gardiner, who must have been very tired indeed, nodded. “As soon as possible.”
Repressing a surge of disappointment, Elizabeth dutifully followed them back over the bridge and down the other side of the stream, where the narrow path seemed to lead somewhat more directly out of the glen. It still curved here and there, the rough wood blocking their view of what came next, and they made no rapid progress down it—although that had more to do with Mrs Gardiner’s weariness, and Mr Gardiner’s frequent lingering glances at the stream.
“What is it, uncle?” Elizabeth asked.
He pointed at a movement in the water she didn’t quite catch. “Did you see?”
“No.”
“It was a trout!” He looked eagerly about, his gaze settling on a manservant by the water. Mrs Gardiner—familiar with her husband’s passion for fishing, starved as it was in London—discovered an urgent need to sit on a nearby rock, and Mr Gardiner, upon seeing her settled down, hurried over to make his fishing inquiries of the man. Without being asked, the latter offered to show him the best spots along the way.
“Is it the quickest way to the house?” said Mr Gardiner.
“Yes, sir.”
He beamed and quickly accepted, and they all wandered along the river for a good while. Elizabeth, though indifferent to fish, observed with pleasure the gradual widening of the stream into a rushing river, and the vibrant greens and browns of the trees.
The path curved, and without any further warning, she saw a young man walking towards them. An astonished gasp caught in Elizabeth’s throat. Despite the distance, she instantly recognized Darcy. Whatever her other mistakes in respect to him, she could never mistake him for anyone else.
She inhaled. Very well. This time, at least, she had some preparation—it would not be the terrible shock of their meeting earlier—she could be calm.
Besides, he might well turn off onto one of the other ways. She seriously considered the possibility while a swerve in the path blocked him from her sight. Then the path wound back again, and he stood right in front of her.
He smiled: the same gentle smile she had seen in the portrait, and at odd moments before. The expression particularly became him, which unsettled her, as did her inability to return it. To think the day had arrived when she felt embarrassed beyond the point of levity, while Darcy smiled.
“Miss Bennet,” he said pleasantly. “I hope you are enjoying the park.”
Elizabeth could, at least, match him in civility.
“Oh! yes. Pemberley is charming, sir,” she said, with real sincerity. “Utterly delightful—”
The thought rushed into her head that he might take this very differently than she intended. He might think she now had designs on the place, after all. She broke off, flushing deeply.
Mr Darcy, thankfully, had the grace to ignore this. Glancing past her at the Gardiners, he said,
“Will you do me the honour of introducing me to your friends?”
Elizabeth almost started. She had not expected such a stroke of civility, and when she remembered the last time he had spoken of them, she could hardly contain a smile. What will be his surprise when he knows who they are! He takes them now for people of fashion.
It was an understandable mistake, but in this case, a very amusing one. She had not lost all sense of humour, after all.
She turned to her uncle and aunt. In as steady a voice as she could muster, she said,
“This is Mr Darcy of Pemberley, who stayed some time in Hertfordshire and Kent while I was there. Mr Darcy, let me introduce to you Mr and Mrs Gardiner—my mother’s brother and sister.”
His eyes widened. Elizabeth assumed he would detach himself from such inferior company as soon as he could, but despite his surprise, he made no attempt to excuse himself, and instead shook hands with Mr Gardiner in a perfectly agreeable manner.
“Are you headed back towards the house?” he asked.
“We are,” said Mr Gardiner.
“In that case, would you like me to accompany you? I am going that way, myself.”
Mr Gardiner agreed, and Mr Darcy fell into step with him, asking about the journey, and answering Mr Gardiner’s sensible questions about the estate. For the first time that day, Elizabeth felt entirely happy. So many times, she had sat miserably by while her relations exposed their follies and petty malice around Darcy, her thoughts fixed on how they must appear to him. Now she delighted to hear her uncle talking in his intelligent, well-mannered way, and delighted to hear how seriously Darcy appeared to take him. He disapproved of her mother, aunt, sisters, even her father—not without reason, she had long admitted to herself, but it was a pleasure to see no trace of that disapproval in his behaviour towards Mr Gardiner.
She certainly liked him a good deal better for it. Really, though, had he behaved like this throughout their acquaintance, she would have liked him already. He was so different!
In truth, she could hardly believe the evidence of her own eyes and ears. He seemed wholly the man whom Mrs Reynolds had described, but not only as master, landlord, and guardian—as an acquaintance, treating those whose lives he scarcely brushed with as much kindness and grace as he did those who lived at his will.
Mr Gardiner’s conversation wound, inevitably, to the subject uppermost in his mind: fishing. Mr Darcy, to Elizabeth’s relief, also seemed to have a liking for the sport, and the two men talked happily of trout and line for several minutes.
“While you continue in the neighbourhood,” said Darcy, “you must fish here as often as you choose. I can supply you with all the fishing tackle you need. You might try it in this spot, or over there—the sport is usually quite good—”
Mr Gardiner fell silent, no doubt out of sheer astonishment, but swiftly recovering his composure, he said, “Thank you very much, sir! I shall take you up on that, I am sure.”
Elizabeth had carefully avoided everyone’s gazes, but she was not anywhere near so meek as to manage it indefinitely. Lifting her own gaze up, she met her aunt’s astounded eyes, and could offer nothing but equal surprise in return. Surprise, and beneath it, a rush of gratification.
He had only just met the Gardiners, through her. The compliment must be to her. And what a compliment it was!
Why was he so altered? From what could it proceed? It could not be for her—it could not be for her sake that his manners were so softened. Her reproofs at Hunsford could not work such a change as this. It was impossible that he should still love her! Yet it seemed less possible that he should have extracted such a lesson from such a scene without loving her.
Perhaps someone else had influenced him, though she could not imagine why such a person would not have done so earlier. Perhaps—well, perhaps he—
“—quite a curious specimen,” Mr Gardiner was saying, as he pointed at something near the riverbed.
“You must come over and see it,” said Darcy immediately, and suiting actions to words, he strode over to the side of the river, Mr Gardiner following. Though Elizabeth could not make out their conversation from where she stood, she could tell that they still talked, Mr Gardiner gesturing as he knelt down to examine some sort of water-plant, and Darcy’s mouth moving as he peered over him.
Elizabeth would never have imagined such a scene as this—her uncle and Mr Darcy looking at plants together! Who could have imagined it?
The men turned back without disaster, or indeed even smears on their boots, and the entire party continued their progression towards the house. Mrs Gardiner, however, leaned more and more heavily on Elizabeth, who was not accustomed to supporting more weight than that which could fit inside a basket.
“Edward,” she said at last, “you must take my arm. I am afraid I shall topple poor Lizzy.”
Uncle and niece switched places before Elizabeth’s mind caught up with her body, and she remembered to be embarrassed.
Darcy, despite his ready conversation with her uncle, said nothing at all, but he seemed contented enough. For her part, Elizabeth desperately wished to explain her presence, but likewise wished to do it without insulting or paining either of them.
“Your arrival,” she said at last, “was very unexpected, for your housekeeper informed us that you would certainly not be here till tomorrow; and indeed, before we left Bakewell, we understood that you were not immediately expected in the country.”
“That is true,” said Darcy. “Some business with my steward occasioned my coming forward a few hours before the rest of the party with whom I have been travelling.” He paused. “They will join me early tomorrow, and among them are some who will claim an acquaintance with you—Mr Bingley and his sisters.”
Elizabeth gave a slight nod. She dared nothing else, her thoughts rushing to the last time they had spoken of Bingley. To go by Darcy’s blush, his followed the same path. She glanced away, and neither spoke for several seconds.
Then he said abruptly,
“There is also one other person in the party 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 during your stay at Lambton?”
Elizabeth was more shocked by this than by anything except his first appearance. His sister! His sister wished to meet her? The wish could only come from her brother’s information. However angry he might have been, it seemed that anger had not led him to think poorly of her, or to represent her in an unfavourable light.
She said something that she could never remember afterwards, but which must have constituted assent. Darcy’s face broke into a relieved smile;—and Elizabeth, flattered and pleased, could not help but smile back.
verse: Comforts and Consequences
characters: Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy; Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner, unnamed servants; Darcy/Elizabeth
stuff that happens: Elizabeth doesn't have the heart to disrupt the Gardiners' time at Pemberley, with predictable results.
previous sections: one
They all exclaimed at the sight, and Mr Gardiner snatched up one of the nearer flowers and stuck it into the little bunch of blossoms on Mrs Gardiner’s hat.
“There,” he said. “Now you have a real one.”
Mrs Gardiner shook her head, but both ladies laughed. Elizabeth, nevertheless, felt a faint melancholy as they continued. She could not imagine a more happily suited couple—and to think that only by sheer chance had their paths crossed at all! How many others could expect their good fortune?
“There,” he said. “Now you have a real one.”
Mrs Gardiner shook her head, but both ladies laughed. Elizabeth, nevertheless, felt a faint melancholy as they continued. She could not imagine a more happily suited couple—and to think that only by sheer chance had their paths crossed at all! How many others could expect their good fortune?
Mr and Mrs Gardiner, charmed by Pemberley House, were now all the more set on touring the grounds. She had not seen them for a good eleven years, since shortly before her marriage, and Mr Gardiner never had. He said with a laugh that he’d had little attention to spare for trees and streams just then.
Elizabeth forced a smile. She would have given anything to return instantly to the inn, finest woods in the country or not. She could not, however, bring herself to diminish her aunt’s and uncle’s pleasure. Accordingly, she replied to each of their inquiries, though she scarcely knew what she said, and looked wherever they did, though she saw nothing. She could think only of Darcy.
He must have entered the house by now—perhaps made his way to the airy study she had seen, or paused near the entrance to speak with Mrs Reynolds for some reason or other, or gone to his bedchamber to freshen himself from his travels. She did not dwell on that; instead, her mind fixed on whatever might be passing through his. At this moment, not far beyond her sight, he must be thinking of her, as she was of him. Their history hardly allowed for anything else, on either side; she understood him well enough to feel certain of that.
Almost certain, at any rate. But what did he think of her? Was he angry to find her at his own home? He had once hoped to make her mistress of this place. Quite possibly it pained him to see her here. Then again, maybe it pleased him; she could not tell from her memory of his expression, and now knew better than to guess.
Oh, never mind that. Could he—did he—was—
Did he still love her?
There it was: the real matter at hand. Some people, had they known, might have questioned whether he ever truly loved her, to misunderstand her as he had, propose to her as he had. Elizabeth was not one of them. Though disinclined to overlook either his assumptions or his proposal, she could not doubt that she was dear to him—not with his letter carefully preserved, and so often re-read. The humblest declaration would not have persuaded her of love more than did the final words of that letter.
But was she dear to him even now? He had been so civil, far beyond his usual rigid correctness. Perhaps it only sprang from the comfort of his surroundings—at home, he might feel much more at ease. Yet he had seemed anything but easy, blushing and stumbling through the conversation as much as Elizabeth herself.
True, the memory of their last conversation might unsettle anyone, even someone as generally calm as Darcy. Nevertheless—
“Lizzy,” said Mrs Gardiner, “are you quite well?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, without much thinking about it. She felt a flurry of guilt at the glances directed her way. “I am very well, aunt.”
She truly did not mean to distract them from the exploration they had so eagerly anticipated. And she certainly did not mean for them to guess at anything like the truth of her relationship with Darcy, if it could be so called. Although the Gardiners almost never demanded information from her, they might misconstrue things enough to find justification for it here; they might ask questions she could not answer; they might ask for other answers that she could give, but preferred to forget altogether.
Elizabeth almost resented Darcy for bringing those to mind once again, the memories bright and sharp—until she remembered that this was his house.
With some effort, she managed to drag her thoughts back to the present place and moment, looking around with real, if forced, attention. They walked alongside the banks of a long river, its water smooth and very clear; when Elizabeth looked down, she could make out each feather on Mrs Gardiner’s hat. The woods ahead of them, rather than ending abruptly, thinned out to a leafy canopy over the path, daylight filtering down in scattered shades of gold and green. The very air seemed to gleam.
Elizabeth lifted her face to the sunshine, nerves quieting a little. She had never seen a place she liked more. If it were not attached to Mr Darcy, she could gladly spend her life here.
But then, if it were not attached to Darcy, it might well be a different sort of place.
She did her best to banish him from her thoughts again. He had a disagreeable way of filling them—not always, but far too often for her peace of mind.
The river curved away from them, and the path took them up a gentle incline, into the woods themselves. The faint greenish cast to the sunlight grew more pronounced, though it remained bright, the moss and leaves and scattered flowers all vivid against the thick bark of the trees. Elizabeth looked around herself with real interest, repressing the urge to run up the ascending ground like some wild creature to see more.
Dutifully, she remained with her uncle and aunt—both smiling in pleasure—but she peered through the breaks in the trees at every opportunity. Through some, she glimpsed the side of the valley sloping down to meet the mansion, which looked rather like a large toy from here. Through others, they could see the opposite side of the grounds rising up into hills, the woods extending from here to the hills, and into a good part of the valley. Now and then, a vibrantly blue strand relieved the deep green of the sprawling forest: the stream, weaving in and out of their vision.
Mrs Gardiner gave a contented sigh.
“I told you, Lizzy.”
“Indeed you did,” said Elizabeth, laughing. “You were quite right, aunt.”
She could not say that she was happy they had come, with Darcy somewhere down there, thinking heaven knew what about her. But if she had to visit Pemberley, she was glad to have seen this.
“For my part, I should like to see the whole park,” Mr Gardiner said. “It might be beyond a walk, however.”
The ladies nodded. Elizabeth could walk for miles, but her aunt was shorter and less accustomed to exerting herself—at least in body.
“Aha,” he said, catching sight of something Elizabeth couldn’t quite make out. She bent her head to look, and saw a manservant not far away, digging something up.
Mr Gardiner waved at him, and he strode over, his face flushed but not particularly weary.
“May I help you, sir?”
“We were thinking of taking in the entire park,” said Mr Gardiner.
The man stared at him.
“I thought it might be too long, however.”
Darcy’s servants appeared no more overburdened with humility than himself. This one straightened up and lifted his chin, his face breaking into a broad grin.
“’Tis ten miles round, sir.”
Elizabeth could hardly help staring, herself. Ten miles—that would be—she swiftly calculated, and almost recoiled. Chatsworth’s park had been a thousand acres. How—
It was of no consequence, of course. None at all. But she no longer wondered that his estate could generate so much as ten thousand a-year; she rather wondered that it produced no more. And she, Elizabeth Bennet, might have called this vast expanse of loveliness her own.
No. It would have been Elizabeth Darcy.—The estate was Darcy’s, and would remain so, and she could not have escaped him.
She broke out of her reverie again, directing her attention to Mr Gardiner’s voice.
“—the usual route, then.”
“We better had,” said Mrs Gardiner emphatically.
She looked a little tired. Mr Gardiner caught the expression as quickly as his niece, and said,
“Should we go back? You seem a little knocked-up, my love.”
“No, no. I am determined to see the whole circuit. Come, Lizzy—if my memory serves me, the next part is the finest yet.”
Elizabeth obeyed without resistance, eager to see more despite her competing desire to leave as soon as possible. They continued down the main path, smoothed down to an easy walk, which lowered into a less densely forested area where flowers sprouted up in swaths of warmer greens, dotted by blue and pink and white blossoms. They all exclaimed at the sight, and Mr Gardiner snatched up one of the nearer flowers and stuck it into the little bunch of blossoms on Mrs Gardiner’s hat.
“There,” he said. “Now you have a real one.”
Mrs Gardiner shook her head, but both ladies laughed. Elizabeth, nevertheless, felt a faint melancholy as they continued. She could not imagine a more happily suited couple—and to think that only by sheer chance had their paths crossed at all! How many others could expect their good fortune? Not many, by the examples she had seen around her all her life.
Luckily, their descent distracted her; the path curved, taking them down through hanging-woods and once again to the water, now shrunk to a small stream. A bridge, completely unadorned, arched over it. The valley as well as the river had narrowed here, enclosing the stream and the coppice-wood bordering it. Paths seemed to grow naturally through the wood, meandering so much that one could not see far into them, only past, to the broadening of the valley beyond the wood, and Pemberley House in the distance.
Elizabeth strode over the bridge and would have promptly set out to explore the winding paths, but Mrs Gardiner made an inarticulate noise behind her.
Elizabeth immediately turned on her heel and hurried back. “Aunt—”
Mr Gardiner, who had remained close to his wife all the while, grasped at Mrs Gardiner’s waist. “Miranda! Are you ill?”
“There is nothing wrong with me,” Mrs Gardiner assured them. “I am only tired, and—the house is so far from here. I had no idea we had come such a distance.”
“We should return to the carriage,” he said.
Mrs Gardiner, who must have been very tired indeed, nodded. “As soon as possible.”
Repressing a surge of disappointment, Elizabeth dutifully followed them back over the bridge and down the other side of the stream, where the narrow path seemed to lead somewhat more directly out of the glen. It still curved here and there, the rough wood blocking their view of what came next, and they made no rapid progress down it—although that had more to do with Mrs Gardiner’s weariness, and Mr Gardiner’s frequent lingering glances at the stream.
“What is it, uncle?” Elizabeth asked.
He pointed at a movement in the water she didn’t quite catch. “Did you see?”
“No.”
“It was a trout!” He looked eagerly about, his gaze settling on a manservant by the water. Mrs Gardiner—familiar with her husband’s passion for fishing, starved as it was in London—discovered an urgent need to sit on a nearby rock, and Mr Gardiner, upon seeing her settled down, hurried over to make his fishing inquiries of the man. Without being asked, the latter offered to show him the best spots along the way.
“Is it the quickest way to the house?” said Mr Gardiner.
“Yes, sir.”
He beamed and quickly accepted, and they all wandered along the river for a good while. Elizabeth, though indifferent to fish, observed with pleasure the gradual widening of the stream into a rushing river, and the vibrant greens and browns of the trees.
The path curved, and without any further warning, she saw a young man walking towards them. An astonished gasp caught in Elizabeth’s throat. Despite the distance, she instantly recognized Darcy. Whatever her other mistakes in respect to him, she could never mistake him for anyone else.
She inhaled. Very well. This time, at least, she had some preparation—it would not be the terrible shock of their meeting earlier—she could be calm.
Besides, he might well turn off onto one of the other ways. She seriously considered the possibility while a swerve in the path blocked him from her sight. Then the path wound back again, and he stood right in front of her.
He smiled: the same gentle smile she had seen in the portrait, and at odd moments before. The expression particularly became him, which unsettled her, as did her inability to return it. To think the day had arrived when she felt embarrassed beyond the point of levity, while Darcy smiled.
“Miss Bennet,” he said pleasantly. “I hope you are enjoying the park.”
Elizabeth could, at least, match him in civility.
“Oh! yes. Pemberley is charming, sir,” she said, with real sincerity. “Utterly delightful—”
The thought rushed into her head that he might take this very differently than she intended. He might think she now had designs on the place, after all. She broke off, flushing deeply.
Mr Darcy, thankfully, had the grace to ignore this. Glancing past her at the Gardiners, he said,
“Will you do me the honour of introducing me to your friends?”
Elizabeth almost started. She had not expected such a stroke of civility, and when she remembered the last time he had spoken of them, she could hardly contain a smile. What will be his surprise when he knows who they are! He takes them now for people of fashion.
It was an understandable mistake, but in this case, a very amusing one. She had not lost all sense of humour, after all.
She turned to her uncle and aunt. In as steady a voice as she could muster, she said,
“This is Mr Darcy of Pemberley, who stayed some time in Hertfordshire and Kent while I was there. Mr Darcy, let me introduce to you Mr and Mrs Gardiner—my mother’s brother and sister.”
His eyes widened. Elizabeth assumed he would detach himself from such inferior company as soon as he could, but despite his surprise, he made no attempt to excuse himself, and instead shook hands with Mr Gardiner in a perfectly agreeable manner.
“Are you headed back towards the house?” he asked.
“We are,” said Mr Gardiner.
“In that case, would you like me to accompany you? I am going that way, myself.”
Mr Gardiner agreed, and Mr Darcy fell into step with him, asking about the journey, and answering Mr Gardiner’s sensible questions about the estate. For the first time that day, Elizabeth felt entirely happy. So many times, she had sat miserably by while her relations exposed their follies and petty malice around Darcy, her thoughts fixed on how they must appear to him. Now she delighted to hear her uncle talking in his intelligent, well-mannered way, and delighted to hear how seriously Darcy appeared to take him. He disapproved of her mother, aunt, sisters, even her father—not without reason, she had long admitted to herself, but it was a pleasure to see no trace of that disapproval in his behaviour towards Mr Gardiner.
She certainly liked him a good deal better for it. Really, though, had he behaved like this throughout their acquaintance, she would have liked him already. He was so different!
In truth, she could hardly believe the evidence of her own eyes and ears. He seemed wholly the man whom Mrs Reynolds had described, but not only as master, landlord, and guardian—as an acquaintance, treating those whose lives he scarcely brushed with as much kindness and grace as he did those who lived at his will.
Mr Gardiner’s conversation wound, inevitably, to the subject uppermost in his mind: fishing. Mr Darcy, to Elizabeth’s relief, also seemed to have a liking for the sport, and the two men talked happily of trout and line for several minutes.
“While you continue in the neighbourhood,” said Darcy, “you must fish here as often as you choose. I can supply you with all the fishing tackle you need. You might try it in this spot, or over there—the sport is usually quite good—”
Mr Gardiner fell silent, no doubt out of sheer astonishment, but swiftly recovering his composure, he said, “Thank you very much, sir! I shall take you up on that, I am sure.”
Elizabeth had carefully avoided everyone’s gazes, but she was not anywhere near so meek as to manage it indefinitely. Lifting her own gaze up, she met her aunt’s astounded eyes, and could offer nothing but equal surprise in return. Surprise, and beneath it, a rush of gratification.
He had only just met the Gardiners, through her. The compliment must be to her. And what a compliment it was!
Why was he so altered? From what could it proceed? It could not be for her—it could not be for her sake that his manners were so softened. Her reproofs at Hunsford could not work such a change as this. It was impossible that he should still love her! Yet it seemed less possible that he should have extracted such a lesson from such a scene without loving her.
Perhaps someone else had influenced him, though she could not imagine why such a person would not have done so earlier. Perhaps—well, perhaps he—
“—quite a curious specimen,” Mr Gardiner was saying, as he pointed at something near the riverbed.
“You must come over and see it,” said Darcy immediately, and suiting actions to words, he strode over to the side of the river, Mr Gardiner following. Though Elizabeth could not make out their conversation from where she stood, she could tell that they still talked, Mr Gardiner gesturing as he knelt down to examine some sort of water-plant, and Darcy’s mouth moving as he peered over him.
Elizabeth would never have imagined such a scene as this—her uncle and Mr Darcy looking at plants together! Who could have imagined it?
The men turned back without disaster, or indeed even smears on their boots, and the entire party continued their progression towards the house. Mrs Gardiner, however, leaned more and more heavily on Elizabeth, who was not accustomed to supporting more weight than that which could fit inside a basket.
“Edward,” she said at last, “you must take my arm. I am afraid I shall topple poor Lizzy.”
Uncle and niece switched places before Elizabeth’s mind caught up with her body, and she remembered to be embarrassed.
Darcy, despite his ready conversation with her uncle, said nothing at all, but he seemed contented enough. For her part, Elizabeth desperately wished to explain her presence, but likewise wished to do it without insulting or paining either of them.
“Your arrival,” she said at last, “was very unexpected, for your housekeeper informed us that you would certainly not be here till tomorrow; and indeed, before we left Bakewell, we understood that you were not immediately expected in the country.”
“That is true,” said Darcy. “Some business with my steward occasioned my coming forward a few hours before the rest of the party with whom I have been travelling.” He paused. “They will join me early tomorrow, and among them are some who will claim an acquaintance with you—Mr Bingley and his sisters.”
Elizabeth gave a slight nod. She dared nothing else, her thoughts rushing to the last time they had spoken of Bingley. To go by Darcy’s blush, his followed the same path. She glanced away, and neither spoke for several seconds.
Then he said abruptly,
“There is also one other person in the party 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 during your stay at Lambton?”
Elizabeth was more shocked by this than by anything except his first appearance. His sister! His sister wished to meet her? The wish could only come from her brother’s information. However angry he might have been, it seemed that anger had not led him to think poorly of her, or to represent her in an unfavourable light.
She said something that she could never remember afterwards, but which must have constituted assent. Darcy’s face broke into a relieved smile;—and Elizabeth, flattered and pleased, could not help but smile back.
