She would walk as she always did. She would be in the parsonage for callers, as she always was. She would… she would… she would… she would resume her life—but it would never be quite the same.
Chance Encounters
Elizabeth felt better after a night’s rest. She was far less upset, but thought it might take a week or a month to discoverwhyshe was melancholy. Was it that she had been forced to endure yet another awkward conversation? Was it that she might have grievously wounded a mostly good, though overly proud man? Was it that she feared she had not wounded him at all, and he would take her advice and find a more suitable candidate within the week? Was it that she was one day closer to spinsterhood, having rejected 2 eligible proposals?
Elizabeth was wise enough to realise she would not solve those mysteries without time and motion and might never solve them at all.
After breakfast, she kissed Mary on the cheek and left to walk. Mary had told William the good news, so Elizabeth could curtsey to him politely or bash him with a spade with similar effect. The man was practically babbling with happiness.
She wandered along her favourite paths without the slightest attention. More and more, her thoughts returned to the Derbyshire gentleman. Even if it was impossible for him to occupy her life, he seemed perfectly able to occupy her head. He had taken up residence there.How long would it take to evict him?
As she walked, her fingernails occasionally dug into her palm; her hand balled into a fist and shook with such anger that she might break a finger. At other times, tears filled her eyes, though she usually had no idea why, and often did not notice them until they reached her cheek.
His voice went around and around in her head:Inferior. Degradation. Mother. Sisters. Admire and love.
There were surprisingly few significant words. Broadly categorised, the offensive ones made her angry, and the admiring words lifted her heart for a moment, only to send it crashing back into anger or dismay.
Sometimes she thought she should count the words, tally them by category, or review every interaction and determine how she could have done better… or… well, it was always the same. Or, Or, Or, Or, Or, could have, should have, would have! None were worth anything at all.
Vexing, vexing man!
Not paying attention, she found it either completely surprising or thoroughly expected (she was not troubled by mutually exclusive expectations) that her feet had carried her to the exact spot where Mr Darcy had firstencounteredherby chance.
The gentleman approached in a surprisingly timid manner and bowed deeply. “Miss Bennet. I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading this letter?”
Elizabeth noticed the letter in his hand, her name prominent on the front in a handsome masculine hand.
Without pausing for thought, she snapped, “I most certainly will not!Put that away! What were you thinking?”
With a startled look—as if the risk to her reputation had occurred to him only after her chastisement—he quickly put it into his waistcoat pocket contritely.
“My apologies, Miss Bennet!You are absolutely correct. I wasnotthinking properly. I shall trouble you no more.”
With afinal-looking bow, he turned and started to walk away. Elizabeth stared at him for a few seconds, even more frustrated, and snapped at him once more. How many moresuch exclamations lay between her current deportment and becoming a complete copy of her mother?
In the closest thing to a shout she had used in many years, she called,“Do not walk away from me!”
He stopped abruptly, paused a moment, and turned slowly around to face her, but seemed singularly obsessed with her boots.
Elizabeth sighed in frustration. “I apologise for my tone, sir. That was uncalled for. It is not my desire to order you about, lose your company, or demand to keep it. You just startled me.”
He gave a grim chuckle. “You of all people need not reproach yourself for yourtone. In our entire acquaintance, that was the first time you have raised your voice toanybody for anything; and to be honest, it is but a tenth part of what I deserve.”
Elizabeth moved a step closer, staring at him until he finally looked up at her face.
“Do not overcompensate. That is as disingenuous as when that so-called gentleman at Netherfield tried to pass off his poor penmanship and scattered thinking as a virtue. Perhaps it is a quarter or half of what you think you deserve, but do not overstate your case. I am out of hair shirts.”
The odd humour made the man chuckle, though he still seemed flustered.
“I am confused and make no bones about it. I feel like a lost and drifting sailor. However, as you have 10 times my social skill, I will gladly accede to any suggestion you make. I only wished to spare you pain.”
“Slinking away, with the last words you ever hear from me being of chastisement, would not relieve me of any pain. It would only compound it.”
“Tell me what I should do.”
Elizabeth paused, for she did not actually know what she wanted him to do—aside fromnothanding her an improper letter, andnotskulking away in anger or frustration. Other than that, she had not the slightest idea.
She considered a few moments. “Offer me your arm like any ordinary gentleman happening upon a lady by chance, and let us walk. I think better in motion.”
