Page 17 of Her Affections and Wishes

To his delight, this drew out another smile. “Indeed, I dare not. In fact, I think you may have no improper pride at all, so you need not fear describing your home.”

“Pemberley House is situated on the opposite side of a valley. It is a handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills with a stream in front. The park contains a variety of ground.”

“That sounds delightful, Mr Darcy,” she said, and his heart again swelled at her approval. “I suppose it is not like Rosings?”

“There is nothing formal or falsely adorned in Pemberley’s style. I think it has a more natural beauty than Rosings or Woodcote, both inside and out. The park is ten miles round.” She seemed interested, so he described the various walks with views of the valley, the opposite hills, with the long range of woods, and parts of the stream.

“How charming,” she said when he was done. “I think I would enjoy wandering in Pemberley’s park.” She coloured and bit her lip. He supposed she feared her admiration might be misconstrued as a hope, or as flattery. Or mockery, since she refused to be Pemberley’s mistress.

“You would be very welcome at Pemberley, Miss Bennet,” he said, to show her he did not assume anything from her compliment. “I have a miniature of the house, if you would like to see it?” She nodded, and he shifted the topic back to the environs of Epsom and the park as they took another path.

It reminded him only a little of his walks with Elizabeth at Rosings. Now, she was more attentive, like she took the trouble to draw him out. At first he thought it was odd that they should be more at ease with each other after his failed proposal than before. But then he realised how much she must have disliked his company on those walks. She might not have known he went out in search of her.

It grew late, and they agreed to go back, but he did not want their walk to end. He could find another time to talk with her this week, but what was the point? She thought better of him, which was all he hoped for from the moment he saw her in the entrance hall yesterday. Did he continue to talk to her this week or avoid her? Which one respected her feelings?

He could no longer lie to himself. Not only did he still love her, but he wanted to ask Elizabeth if her feelings for him could change. He was tolerably secure of her approval of him, but he was not confident that admiration or love came to her mind when she thought of him.

One moment he was convinced he would hazard nothing until he believed himself secure of Elizabeth’s affection, and the other was ready to just take her in his arms and kiss her, and then beg her to end his suffering. If she gave him any encouragement, anything beyond wanting only friendship, he would ask her again to marry him.

Chapter Four

How could she have spent three hours walking and talking with Darcy, but it felt like mere moments? It was a lovely afternoon. And it did not compare to their walks at Hunsford where Elizabeth always wished to avoid him. Not only was her assumption that Darcy was not a good-tempered man wrong, but he was, in his own way, charming. He had a natural confidence, was sure of himself and his beliefs. But he could also listen, and the combination of those qualities was attractive to her.

They entered Woodcote’s hall and were struck by its vulgar taste, the clutter and gilding and ornaments everywhere, and when she glanced at Darcy as his eyes turned every which way, she suspected he had the same thought. How many other ways did their thoughts and feelings coincide, and would she ever have the opportunity to find out?

They climbed the stairs and were about to part when he asked, “Did you want to see the miniature of Pemberley?” He pointed down a passage in the other direction from hers. “It is just in my room.”

“Yes, certainly I do.”

He entered and left the door open whilst she waited in the passageway. “Do you always travel with a painting of your home?” she called in after him.

“My sister painted it for me,” he called back. “When I said I missed home when I was away, she insisted on making me a memento.”

Elizabeth took a step forward to better hear him and had a fuller view of Darcy’s room. There were books stacked two or three high with ribbons marking some pages. A rag and hairbrush were out on the shaving stand. His riding clothes from this morning must have been put away, but his boots were awaiting a polish. Darcy must have changed his mind as to what coat to wear this afternoon, because the discarded one was over a chair. It was a good choice; she preferred him in green rather than that shade of blue.

Seeing his personal items after such a pleasant walk with him excited her feelings. Darcy was a real person, not an actor in her friends’ misfortune or a man reluctant to dance with her. He was full of complexities, with interests and faults like anyone else. He was likeable, loyal, and cared about those he loved.

Darcy was a person she now esteemed, a person whom she could love. And she felt it too late.

He came back to the doorway and handed her the miniature. “I will boast of Georgiana’s skills as a painter, not of the beauty of the house itself.”

Its splendour struck her, but it gave one the feeling of home. It was exactly as he had described. Everything in the image was enchanting. “I think both are worthy of praise.”

“There is a natural beauty to it, more so than at a place like Rosings,” he said, taking the painting back. “I thought you— I am pleased you approve. And I will tell Georgiana you admire her talents.”

Her heart raced. Darcy thought she would like his home. He had an anxiety to please that she had never seen before, and his manners were softened from how he was in Meryton and Hunsford. Her reproofs at Hunsford worked a change, but why? Was it possible that he should still love her?

An increasingly large part of her heart hoped he still did.

“There you are.”

They turned to see Julia Metcalfe. Her eyes slid to the open door, with Darcy just in the doorframe and Elizabeth outside. A smirk played on her lips. “What are you two doing?”

He was entirely unembarrassed. “I was showing Miss Bennet a miniature of Pemberley. Would you care to see?” he added when Julia waited expectantly.

“I would.” Julia gave him a slow, seductive smile.

An unexpected jolt of anger struck Elizabeth’s stomach, but she tamped down her jealousy. Darcy did not belong to her, but neither would he belong to this grasping woman, so what did it matter if Julia smiled at him?