Mr. Darcy's Refuge (14 page)

“I would not waste my time worrying about
that
, my dear,” Mr. Bennet said dryly. “I would venture to guess that you will find Darcy with Lizzy.”

Charlotte pressed her hand to her chest. “Of course! This would explain where he was going that night. We knew only that he rode out after dark, despite a warning that the roads were unfit for travel, but given this,” she held up the announcement, “he is probably perfectly safe at the parsonage.”

“Perfectly safe until I get my hands on him,” grumbled Mr. Bennet. “I do not like learning of my daughter’s engagement from a notice in the newspaper, and I like even less the idea that
he
has spent the last two days alone with Lizzy.”

His companion, however, was not paying attention. She was re-reading the announcement and biting her lip. “But what shall I tell Lady Catherine? She is frantic about Mr. Darcy’s disappearance, but if she were aware of
this
, it might be even worse.”

“He is better off dead than engaged to my daughter?” Mr. Bennet demanded, his objections to the match forgotten in this new indignity.

Charlotte allowed herself a slight smile. “I am certain we will both hear far more than we wish on the subject of Lady Catherine’s wishes.”

A new pounding sounded from the direction of the front door. “Perhaps that is the colonel, with news from the parsonage,” said Charlotte.

A man’s voice bellowed, “Where is he, damn his eyes?”

Charlotte turned back to Mr. Bennet. “On second thought, that would
not
be Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

***

Elizabeth let the light breeze from the window play over her hot cheeks. The rain had stopped, but the air remained moist, almost as she imagined sea air would be. Someday she would like to visit the sea. It was a pity to be so close to it here in Kent, yet not to see it.

The sky was beginning to clear as well. As she watched, a thin crescent moon scudded out from behind the patchy clouds, making the grounds of the parsonage into a quilt of light and shadows before it was once again swallowed up and blurred into the merest suggestion of light. To the west, the sky blazed with stars, and Elizabeth entertained herself with imagining new constellations from the patterns they made.

The crash of a door slamming broke the stillness of the night. A shadowy form emerged from the front of the parsonage, striding rapidly toward the row of trees that lined the property. She recognized Mr. Darcy by the set of his shoulders. Reaching the trees, he stooped to pick something up – a stick? – and weighed it in his hand. Then, with an abrupt motion, he drew back his arm and flung it hard. It flew away from the house and out of her sight, but Elizabeth heard the crack of wood meeting wood.

After repeating the action with another stick, he looked up at the sky, raking both hands into his hair, then holding his head between them. He stood that way for long enough that Elizabeth realized she should not be watching him when he believed himself to be unobserved. She looked away self-consciously, but her eyes were drawn back to his shape, now crouched down near the ground as his hands collected something too small for her to make out.

So the restrained Mr. Darcy did have limits to his self-control. She would not have believed it had she not seen it herself. What had brought him so close to the edge that he had allowed this side of himself to emerge? Had his calmness in her presence been nothing more than a pretence?

He disappeared then behind the line of trees. Elizabeth found herself straining to hear anything of his passage, but the only sound reaching her ears was the chirping of the crickets. He could not go far in that direction; the path there led down to the river. Would there be enough light to see his way safely and avoid the high water?

The sound of a small splash came, then a second and a third. A pause, followed by more splashes at varying intervals. Her lips curved as she wondered what Mr. Darcy was throwing into the river. More sticks, or had he moved on to rocks? The splashes sounded heavier than what she imagined a stick would create.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. He had, all unknowing, given her a tiny glimpse of his soul as he poured his – what? – anger, or frustration, or sheer bad temper out into the empty night. What did she actually know of him, of the man he was beyond his curt manners and proud behavior? She had been wrong about Wickham’s tale; what else might she be wrong about?

Darcy’s rude behavior at the Meryton Assembly could not be denied. She had heard his insults herself. She could not say whether it was typical of him or not; although he had been proud and distant on other occasions in Hertfordshire, she could not recall other insulting behavior. He had not been so distant here in Kent. Which was the true Darcy?

Colonel Fitzwilliam had confirmed her fears that Darcy had been instrumental in separating Jane from Bingley, and she did not think the colonel would create such a tale with no basis. From what Darcy had said in his proposal, his poor opinion of her family and her low connections would seem to be the cause. She felt the heat of anger just thinking about his words. True, his station was above hers, but it did not follow that hers was anything to be ashamed of!

Opening her eyes, she shook her head to clear it. Anger was not useful in her present situation. She needed to assess this rationally, if for no other reason than to prove to herself that she was not always so foolish as to accept a story like Wickham’s as truth simply because he flattered her vanity. Mr. Darcy had been so far from flattering her that she would have believed any ill of him, yet he was the one who truly admired her, not Wickham, who was soon to marry Miss King. How had she missed that so completely?

Just then his figure emerged from the trees, making her aware that at some level she had been watching for him. He approached the house more slowly than he had left it, his pace almost reluctant. He paused twice to look at something around him, though it was unclear in the darkness what had drawn his attention.

He was but a short distance down the garden path when he looked up. By his sudden rigidity, she knew he must have seen her. How mortifying to be caught spying on him! How could she have been so foolish to remain in the windowseat where she must have been perfectly silhouetted by the candlelight? At least she was still dressed with her hair up. The mere idea of him seeing her in her nightdress with her hair loose sent a frisson of sensation through her. It was bad enough that he had spotted her curled up in the windowseat in what could hardly be considered a ladylike pose.

She had to repress an urge to scamper back into the darkness – that would only make her look ashamed of herself. Instead, she forced herself to nod in what she hoped to be a gracious manner and to raise a hand in brief salute.

He hesitated, then swept her a low bow such as would be proper for a duchess at the very least, or perhaps a fairy tale princess. The only suitable reply she could think of would be to drop a handkerchief out of her window, but that would send altogether the wrong message. Still, the idea made her smile. At least there was no trellis, so she was safe from the role of the princess in the tower.

For a moment she wondered if he might speak to her, but then he continued up the path and around the house. She told herself it was fortunate, since neither of them would want attention drawn to her position. It would look too much like she was seeking him out.

The encounter left her even more restless. She blew on the window glass to create a fog, then drew a design in it, a spiral that tumbled into itself. She needed to find a way to distract herself. Perhaps she should write Jane a letter, though there was a great deal she would need to leave out.

The light tap at her door came not quite as a surprise, more an inevitability. She pressed her hand to her mouth for a moment, then, with a resolution that surprised her, she patted her hair into place and wrapped the shawl more firmly around herself before opening the door.

As she expected, Darcy stood on the other side. He stepped back and bowed to her, his expression serious. “Miss Bennet, would you be kind enough to grant me the honour of a few minutes’ conversation? Not here, of course – perhaps in the sitting room?”

“If you do not object, I would prefer to walk outside. I have been indoors all day.”

“As you wish. The skies have cleared enough that you can see the stars – but I suppose that you have already discovered that.”

She glanced over to the window with a hint of a smile. “It did not pass unnoticed.”

He relaxed slightly. “I will await you downstairs, then.”

Elizabeth cast a glance at the hook where her detested bonnet hung. If he could go out without a hat, so could she. “I will come now.” It would be interesting to see if he said anything about her lack of bonnet and gloves – and after all, no one would see her except him.

There was a flash of something in his eyes, but he merely held the door open for her. With a nod, she followed him down the dark passageway to the steps. No sound came from Jenny’s room, but downstairs Elizabeth noted that a light still burned in the dining room. She wondered if it was Sally at work or Colonel Fitzwilliam. She hoped for the former. Until the thought of the colonel discovering them crossed her mind, she had not realized how very furtive they would appear, leaving the house alone together at this time of night. At least with the roads in their current condition, no one would consider elopement a possibility! She could not help giving a soft laugh at the thought as Darcy opened the front door for her.

He closed the door behind him quietly. “Something amuses you, Miss Bennet?”

“Only a bit of silliness.” When he continued to look at her inquisitively, she said, “Slipping out of the house at night with a gentleman is supposed to indicate an elopement. I was picturing a hapless pair of lovers returning to the house and saying, “We tried to go to Gretna Green, but the bridge was out.” As I said, just foolishness.”

Darcy chuckled. “No, I believe Gretna Green is quite out of the question tonight, but we can still take a walk. Do you have a preference in direction?”

She considered. For propriety’s sake they should stay within view of the house, but she longed to escape further, and she had been alone with Darcy so much in the last two days that she knew she would be safe. “Is it too muddy to go down by the river?”

“No more than anywhere else at the moment. The path is clear for a short way, and the river is quieter tonight.”

She folded her hands behind her back to obviate the question of whether he should offer her his arm. There was no point in taking risks, after all. “Then let us go there.”

They walked side by side without a word for several minutes until Elizabeth said, “For a gentleman desiring a conversation, you are remarkably silent.”

“You are, of course, correct. I am better at silence than conversation, and I have been trying to decide where to start.”

“It is traditional to start at the beginning,” she said with mock gravity, teasing to hide the anxiety his words engendered in her.

“The beginning is the problem in this case. Very well, Miss Bennet, I have realized that some of what I said to you two nights ago may have come out in a manner other than I intended. I have,” he said dryly, “something of a gift for expressing myself in a manner that sounds offensive when I mean nothing of the sort.”

“We all have our unique talents.” She gave him a sidelong glance, but could not read his expression in the darkness.

“In that case,
your
gifts must be far superior to mine! But my point is that I did not mean to insult your family when I tried to enumerate the obstacles my affection had to overcome, but I fear that is what I did. While there is an inequity of income and, to some extent, status, I know your family is as dear to you as my own is to me.” There. He had said it.