Page 7 of Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
“Here,” Mr. Darcy said, opening a smaller umbrella than the one the footman had held. Elizabeth reached out to take it, but he shook his head. “Allow me.”
Elizabeth did not wish for him to be discomfited. “I am able to hold it myself.”
“I see.” He handed it to her, but Elizabeth had not accounted for their differences in height, and when she opened it, she nearly poked Mr. Darcy in the eye. Elizabeth winced, but a faint smile appeared briefly upon his face.
“My apologies, sir.”
“Not at all. May I?” He held out his hand, and she sheepishly returned the umbrella to him. Mr. Darcy made certain she was covered by it, and they walked out of the church together, closer than was wise for Elizabeth’s equanimity. She breathed in his scent, a sort of musk with bergamot and orange. Why had she never noticed before how enticing he smelled?
Before it drove her entirely mad, she recalled that this tête-à-tête was likely the only opportunity she would have to achieve her aim.
“Mr. Darcy, there is something I should like to say to you,” Elizabeth said hurriedly.
They took the turn into Longbourn’s drive, and his gaze fixed upon hers with some trepidation. “I shall hear whatever it is you wish to say.”
Elizabeth eyed the nearness of the house and rushed on. “I only wish to thank you, sir, for your part in saving my sister Lydia. She mentioned you were present at her wedding, and I wrote straightaway to my aunt who informed me of your part in the business.”
His countenance darkened a little before he recovered. “I am sorry to have afforded you any uneasiness. I never meant for anyone other than the Gardiners to know of my role.”
Elizabeth understood from this that he would not have involved the Gardiners either, had he been able to help it. But he could not act on Lydia’s behalf without someone in her family authorizing him to do so.
“It is very like you,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I wish to offer you my deepest gratitude, sir, on behalf of all my family, for none of them know what you have done for us.”
His expression hardened, as though it had been chiselled from marble. “I could do no less, Miss Bennet. Please do not mention it.”
Elizabeth could hear in his tone that he meant it. He did not wish for her gratitude nor to be reminded of what he had done for her family. What mortification it must have cost him to deal with Mr. Wickham again, and on behalf of Lydia, a girl he could never respect. A cold chill began to seep from the region of her heart. She nodded. “I shall not, then.”
They stepped under the portico at Longbourn. Mr. Darcy snapped the umbrella closed and tapped the end on the stones to shake off the worst of the water, perhaps a little too hard. They entered the house with a silence between them even deeper than it had been in the church. Mr. Darcy handed Mr. Hill the umbrella and removed his coat, and Elizabeth noticed that half of it was wet. He had kept her dry under the umbrella, but not himself.
Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to run upstairs to her chamber, throw herself on the bed, and weep. But she was no longer a child. She had duties to perform for her sister today, and she would fulfil them. She offered Mr. Darcy a shallow curtsy when they stood in the front hall and then left him there.
Darcy stood in the entry hall, quite alone. A few stray drops of water fell from the half of his hat that had not been covered by the umbrella and made tiny splattering noises as they hit the floor.
Gratitude. That was what Elizabeth wanted to convey to him. Hergratitude. The word tasted bitter. If she had upbraided him for his officiousness in handling the sordid business of her sister and Wickham when he had no standing or made a sarcastic quip about his being Bingley’s witness at the wedding he had been to such pains to prevent, at least that would have been something. Anything to show him how she really felt about him.
Well, he did know, did he not? Grateful. That pale, sickly feeling of being indebted to someone, that something was owed.
He briefly considered simply walking back to Netherfield, but the rain meant that he would arrive requiring dry clothing and his had already been packed. Besides, he could not abandon Bingley now, as none of his family had deigned to show.
That moment under the umbrella had been exquisite. Elizabeth so close, smelling of jasmine and newly fallen rain . . . He swallowed and willed himself into better regulation.
The woman drove him mad.
He squared his shoulders and proceeded into the drawing room.
Stepping through the doorway was akin to entering another world. The drawing room he recalled from September last had been cleared of much of the larger furniture to make more room for neighbours and their congratulations. Mrs. Bennet was moving between the small groups of friends and family, both serving as hostess and graciously accepting everyone’s well-wishes. For the first time, he realised that Mrs. Bingley had inherited her mother’s looks.
Darcy had to admit that the mistress of Longbourn had done a more than creditable job. There was a warm fire crackling in the fireplace, flowers from the hothouse produced surprising colour in various places about the room, and even now, servants were lighting candles to chase away the gloom of a rainy December morning. The sideboard nearly groaned with a profusion of excellent food, including chocolate at one end and a large cake in the centre. And the air was alive with the hum of convivial conversation. He had been to many London celebrations, but none that felt so welcoming, so comfortable.
One of the neighbours Darcy did not know raised his glass in a toast, and he raised his along with everyone else. It was a rather long speech, but a heartfelt one. Mrs. Bingley was much loved here.
The moment the toast was concluded, Mrs. Bennet appeared suddenly before him.
“You are very welcome to be here among us, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet said in welcome, though Darcy noted a bit of apprehension in her voice. “Do have some of the ham. It is especially good.”
Darcy made her a formal bow. “My congratulations, madam,” he said. “Both on the wedding of Mrs. Bingley and your elegant preparations. I have rarely seen the equal.”
He was ashamed of himself when he read the shock in her expression, though after a moment her countenance was wreathed in smiles. “Thank you kindly, sir. Jane deserves such attention, for she is the sweetest girl in the world.”
