Pride and Pursuit: A Pride and Prejudice Variation, page 16
Elizabeth spoke before he could think of what to say.
“It will do. Here is a patch of moss that is almost soft, right against the hillside, for us to sleep on. It is good fortune, Will. We have our blankets, and it is not raining.” He could not see her expression, but she sounded resolute. “We will be well.”
What a remarkable young woman she was. Once more, she met adversity with a determination of spirit and calm sense. She was a lady, gently born and accustomed to the finer things, but here she was, having traipsed through rough woods after dark and looking at a bed of rock under the cold night sky not with wails and protestations, but with acceptance and the intention to make the best of it. “We will be well.”
Darcy pulled the blanket from his pack and arranged it on the moss and against the rocky wall before he and Elizabeth sank to the ground. She was correct. The moss made it, if not comfortable, at least tolerable. Then he helped her arrange her own blanket across them to help ward off the chill. His face brushed hers as he did so, her skin soft under his growing whiskers, and he hoped he hadn’t scratched her. Her response, however, was not one of complaint, but a soft sigh as she nestled closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. She ought to hate him, he mused, but she clearly did not, and he thanked the heavens for that small mercy. He extended an arm to wrap about her shoulders, and with the blankets around them, out of the wind and pressed side to side, they were tolerably warm.
“Are you comfortable?” He hardly heard his own voice in the deepening darkness. He dared not speak louder, loath to disturb the silence of the woods. A movement on his shoulder was her reply, yes. There was no need for words for a moment, between these two desperate souls hoping to keep the chaos at bay for one last night.
Darcy tried to imagine his friend Bingley’s sisters in such a situation, miles from home, out in the forest with no real shelter, and sleeping in the same clothing they had worn for a week. No! He could not picture it at all. Even a straw-filled mattress under a rough wooden roof would be too far below them to contemplate. His admiration for Elizabeth grew, and he realised that his goal now was not to convince her to marry him—for this she must—but to somehow learn to love him. The love of such a strong lady would be a prize well worth winning.
He felt her shift against him to make herself more comfortable, if such was possible, and he did likewise. But before they slept, he must speak.
“Elizabeth…” His quiet voice sounded strange to his ears.
“Yes, Will…” Was that resignation in her voice? She must know what he had to say. Should he refrain from his offer? But that would not do. He had an obligation.
How was he to begin? What sort of speech ought he to make? This was hardly how he had envisioned this momentous event in his life, when he offered himself and his future to the lady he hoped to make his wife. More pragmatic than romantic, he nonetheless had imagined a suitable scene for such a proposal. Perhaps in a manicured garden by silvery moonlight, as the orchestra played for the dance in the ballroom, or in the shade of a beautiful bower near the manor house. Or in the lady’s family’s parlour, having requested permission to speak to her alone, the event to be celebrated immediately thereafter with sherry and sweets.
Nor was she the lady he had imagined himself proposing to. She was not the daughter of a baron or earl that he had imagined, not some elegant lady one step removed from the nobility as was he, but rather, the second daughter of a minor landholder of no consequence and little wealth, who climbed trees and slept on the ground with no complaints.
With every preconception denied to him, he decided to forgo protestations of passion or poetic words and speak plainly. She would, he hoped, appreciate this.
He took a deep breath. “You must be aware that after all this time we have spent alone, we will be expected to marry.”
Silence. Then a small noise that sounded like “yes.”
Was this encouragement? It was not enthusiastic, but neither had she had not told him to stop speaking. He decided to press on.
“I would be most pleased if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife.”
There. He had said it. What should he expect now? A rush of gratitude? A sensible discussion of terms?
It certainly was not the quiet word that issued from Elizabeth’s lips.
“No.”
For the first time in nearly a week, Jane did not approach the day with that same leaden sense of dread. They were to remain in Oswestry for the day; she did not need to fold herself into the carriage and face a day of cramped discomfort and the increasing animosity between Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam. She could take her breakfast at leisure, return to the church to enjoy the windows, and wander through some of the interesting shops they had walked past the previous evening. The skies were heavy, but there was no rain yet, and her umbrella would serve well if it grew wet. This was no holiday, but the thought of buying something for her mother and younger sisters felt almost normal and it lightened her spirits somewhat.
She dressed in suitable attire for such a day’s activity and descended the stairs to the private parlour where they had dined the night before, there to break her fast. Her father, Major Hawarden, and Colonel Fitzwilliam were already present, heads close together over what looked like a detailed map, their empty teacups suggesting that they had been discussing something for a while.
“Jane, my dear,” her father greeted her. “I thought we would be quite out of sorts not to spend another day in Mr Bingley’s fine carriage, and thus I have arranged for the driver to lead us in circles around the town for six or seven hours, before returning us here to the inn. Sip your tea quickly, my dear, for time is a-wasting.”
She shook her head at his yarn and kissed his cheek.
“We had best call him inside, then, Papa, for I have other thoughts. There is a milliner I wish to visit, and the bookshop had an interesting display in the window.”
“You make your own plans, my dear. I have some business to attend to with the colonel here. If he is asking his fellow officer for the loan of some men, I must accompany him, for Elizabeth is my daughter, and I would know the people charged with retrieving her.”
“Perhaps your friend Bingley will keep you company, Miss Bennet.” Colonel Fitzwilliam gestured to the teapot, and at Jane’s nod, poured her a cup. “Sugar? Toast? Some eggs?” He handed her a plate of food. “I was up early, and spoke to the parson’s wife, who has offered her company for the day, whilst your excellent father and I are at our business. She and Mr Bingley will, I am certain, keep you entertained and safe whilst you explore this town.”
The thoughts that had teased the edges of Jane’s mind last night surfaced again. What was the colonel about, first vying with Mr Bingley for her approbation, and now all but thrusting her into that other gentleman’s arms for the day? What had he been playing at? More ideas tumbled unordered through her brain until she began to think she had some small grasp of things.
How odd. How decidedly odd!
Nevertheless, thus it was arranged.
Jane was not entirely certain how she felt. It would be a great relief not to have this peculiar silent duel being fought between the two men, but instead of spending the day with her father, or alone with the company of one of the inn’s maids, she was to pass the time with a stranger and one of the men who was puzzling her so.
She allowed her thoughts to turn to Mr Bingley. She had been intrigued by him from the first, with his understanding eyes and eager willingness to help. Furthermore, she could not deny that he was handsome, as every rich young man should be if he can at all help it. His mood had soured when he thought the colonel was seeking Jane’s affections over his own, but he had been nothing but solicitous and polite to both her and her father. And she had enjoyed the short time they had spent together in Wolverhampton, laughing over those dreadful hats. Perhaps a day in his company, without the unhappy influence of the colonel, would show her more of the man he was in ordinary circumstances.
Thus, she smiled and said it would be lovely.
And she hoped with all her heart that it would, indeed, be so.
CHAPTER 15
A Fraught Discussion
“No?” Darcy shook his head, trying to make sense of what Elizabeth had just said. He had offered her marriage, a secure future, excellent connections for herself and her family. “You are refusing me?”
He felt her shift next to him in the darkness, and in a moment he felt her head come to rest on his shoulder. “I am not rejecting you. But I am not accepting you.” He was about to protest that these were the same, but she hurried on. “I like you. I like you a great deal. But a marriage, in my world, at least, should arise from love and not obligation. I have not been raised with the expectation of selling myself to the highest bidder.
“My mother, at one time, opined how fine it would be if one of us were to marry our cousin, Mr Collins. He,” she explained, “is the man who will inherit Longbourn after our father passes on. We have never met him, and I have no reason to suppose him a bad sort of a man, but the very thought of it was abhorrent to me. To marry without love—that is the worst sort of torture.”
A small piece of his heart broke at these words. She did not love him. He had no reason to imagine that she did, but he had hoped beyond reason that there might be some affection in her heart. But regardless of her feelings, other issues still loomed large.
“I am afraid we have no choice. Your name will be ruined. Your reputation, and that of your sisters, will be destroyed. None of them will be able to marry well if we do not wed. I could not live with myself if I knew I had forever shattered their hopes. And when your cousin does inherit your estate, what then? Where will you go, if you have not wealthy husbands?” The idea of five unmarried women, trying to survive on scraps and handouts, chilled him more than the cold rock at his back.
The pressure of her head on his shoulder shifted and she nestled into him, a strangely intimate gesture from somebody refusing his offer of marriage.
“I have considered this,” she whispered at last, her voice scarcely a breath in the darkness. “We must say… you must say that I have died. You can tell them that Mr Wickham caused my death, if you wish. It will mark him more of a villain, and me a martyr. My sisters, then, will be sought after because of their association with me rather than reviled. There will be no stain on them.”
“Elizabeth! You cannot be serious. What will you do?”
“I had hoped,” she breathed, “to find a position at the hunting lodge. I can cook, or I can teach the village children their alphabets and how to play the pianoforte very ill. I can take a new name and nobody need know I am still alive.” She gave a sniffle. “I…”
Oh heavens! She was crying. He was terrible at consoling women when they cried. His sister had told him so many times. He shifted inside the cocoon of his blanket, and raised his arm a bit, so Elizabeth could move away if she wished. Instead, she nestled in even closer to his side and when his arm pulled her in further still, she buried her face against his neck.
“Do not cry, Lizzy. Would it be so very terrible, being married to me?”
If anything, she started to cry even harder. Without words to soothe her, he just held her close and let her weep out her tears until the sobs abated and she could speak again.
“No, not so terrible, Will,” she said at last, the words punctuated by the last of her sobs. “Not terrible at all. But all my dreams were for something so very different. I cannot live as nothing but a duty to be fulfilled. I wish to be loved.”
What was he to do? Was this the time to confess his growing feelings for her? To make such a declaration would seem ingenuous, especially in light of their most unusual situation and the very short duration of their acquaintance. But neither could he leave her thinking there was no affection on his part.
“I feel no pain in making my offer, Elizabeth, no unwelcome obligation. It is necessary, yes, but that does not make it onerous. I have come to like you a great deal, and will do everything in my power to make you happy.”
“Will, I…” She fell silent and just lay against him for a while.
“Hush. I will not force you to do anything you do not wish. Just know that I... I have come to care for you.”
I love you, he wanted to say, but the words would not come. They would only send her away.
In answer to his gesture, she pressed herself closer to him still and lay against his chest until her breathing suggested she had drifted into sleep. But Darcy stayed awake for a very long time, half-reclined against the rocky walls of this not-quite-cave, wondering how Elizabeth could reject him but still be comfortable enough with him that she sought his presence and touch this much.
Jane and her companions rose early in the morning and enjoyed a good breakfast before starting on the final leg of the journey. It was about twenty miles to their destination, so the colonel told them, less than half of their accustomed daily distance. With fortune, and a change of horses at Llangollen, they would arrive long before noon.
The colonel had somehow procured a set of livery, which he wore with a swagger that belied his putative status as a servant. But Jane had to admit that if one were looking for a wealthy military officer, the green-garbed man in the white wig, clinging to the back of the carriage, would draw no attention. Beside Major Hawarden, two more large men on larger horses now rode alongside the carriage, and there was little doubt that the pistols they carried were ready to fire. Contrarily, their ominous presence led Jane to feel less, rather than more, safe, but she had to trust the colonel’s best judgement, and tried to ignore the import of their armed guard.
As arranged, they stopped in the market town close to Coed-y-Glyn for a short time, ostensibly to ask directions and procure a few final supplies; in reality, to parade about and look like a party of three newcomers making good on an invitation to visit for a time. Mr Bingley played his part well, asking about the hunting and looking quite excited about it all, whilst Jane and her father made some comments about waiting for the rest of their party to arrive in a few days. If anybody noticed the silent servant upon the box, or knew the identity of one of the outriders, not a word was said.
At last, they set off for their destination. The entrance to the estate was just a mile down the road, but the road to the house wound for four or so miles through the woods. They rode in silence for much of the time, although Mr Bingley seemed much relieved at having no competition for Jane’s attention.
He had been, as Jane had expected, delightful company the previous day. They had enjoyed the church and its fine windows, taken tea with the parson and his wife, strolled along the streets and admired the shops, and enjoyed hearing each other’s opinions.
They agreed on many things; their thoughts on music, poetry, and the merits of scientific endeavour were all quite in accord, although Jane had to admit to herself that her thoughts on science were more noted by their lack of existence. Nevertheless, coming from a family who made their fortune in industry, Mr Bingley had a firm grasp of some of the more recent contributions to engineering, which subject enthralled Jane more than she imagined she ever would.
The day had passed too quickly, and she was almost sad not to have more time for unguarded conversation with her new neighbour.
Her father’s low cough brought Jane’s attention back to the present, and the lane down which they now travelled.
The heavy growth of trees on either side of the path provided no suggestion of what was to come. They followed a stream that flowed between the steep hillsides, turning this way and that as the lane coiled its way into the heart of the park, dark and mysterious, with occasional glimmers of the brook’s sparkling water through the leaves.
Then, at last, they broke through the trees and into a clearing, and the hunting lodge was visible at last.
“Good God!” Mr Bingley exclaimed, his face going slack and draining of colour.
“Hunting box, indeed,” Papa tutted. “That is not quite what I would call it.”
Jane stared out the window, not quite believing what she saw. Her mouth hung open and she closed it carefully.
This was not the modest lodge she had expected, nor a humble cobblestone cottage with an outbuilding or two for the horses and perhaps a smaller structure to the side for some of the staff. She had been concerned there might not be space for her to have a room separate from the men. Her fears were unwarranted.
Instead of the squat and rustic structure she had imagined, here before her stood a building that could only be called a palace.
It rose up, all grey stone and tall chimneys, in the Tudor style, with a great square turret at one end that might once have been part of an ancient castle and a more modern looking addition at the other. It faced onto a large courtyard at the front, enclosed on three sides by beautifully kept shrubs and hedges, and beyond the main body of the house, Jane could see what looked like fine stables and low buildings that might be storehouses or possibly servants’ quarters. It put Longbourn to shame in its size and grandeur.
In a moment, the horses came to a stop directly by the majestic wooden front door, and the colonel himself leapt from his perch and handed them out of the carriage.
“Welcome,” he intoned, “to Coed-y-Glyn.”
Seemingly from nowhere, a small army of servants appeared by the door to see them inside.
“Croeso, Colonel,” Jane heard from a smart-looking lady who could only be the housekeeper. Her accent held a hint of the sing-song music of the Welsh language. “Welcome to you and your guests. All is prepared. I have put Mr Bennet in the India Room, with Miss Bennet beside him in the China Room. When Miss Elizabeth is retrieved, she shall have the adjoining Rose Room. Mr Bingley is down in the hall, in the River Room.”
“Diolch,” replied their host. “Very good.” He introduced his guests to Mrs Lloyd, who was exactly what Jane had surmised, and then stood back with his arm extended, inviting them to enter the family’s great house.
