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The next day Elizabeth bade her aunt and uncle goodbye early in the morning, but was not surprised when Mr. Darcy came to call a little later, suggesting a visit to Notre Dame Cathedral. Mrs. Radnor excused herself on the grounds that her son was still ill and needed attention, leaving Elizabeth without a proper chaperone, but Mrs. Radnor did not seem alarmed. Although she was English, she had been living in France for more than a year and took a more relaxed view of such matters.
As they walked toward the cathedral in companionable silence, Darcy glanced over at Elizabeth’s profile. She was gazing about her in sheer delight at the sights of Paris; it was a thrill simply to observe her take such joy in the city. When she had accepted his offer to begin their friendship anew, he had been overjoyed, but since then some of his optimism had drained away. Elizabeth did not seem to find his company burdensome, but she was reserved with him. While her enjoyment of Paris was uninhibited, her behavior with him – every glance and gesture – was polite and for
mal. She occasionally joked with him and teased him, but she was, in general, far more constrained in his presence than she had been before his declaration at Hunsford. He cursed himself again for the stupidity of his misbegotten proposal.
He tried to reassure himself that he should be pleased that she had agreed to friendship, more than he had any right to expect. Nor was she attempting to discourage his attentions. However, he thought with frustration, she was not doing anything to encourage them either. Her whole manner seemed designed not to reveal any feelings she might experience. He had accepted this state of affairs at first, but now he was wondering if she would ever demonstrate a warmer regard toward him. What did it all mean?
Once they had arrived at the cathedral, Elizabeth expressed awe at Notre Dame’s beauty and exclaimed over every stained glass window. She conversed with Darcy about the building’s history and the history of Paris itself, and he appeared impressed with the breadth of her knowledge on the subject. Silently she thanked the plentiful collection of history books in her father’s library. Although she did not have the advantage of a wealthy gentlewoman’s education, at least she had compensated for the deficit with extensive reading.
Mr. Darcy was extremely amiable and agreeable throughout their visit. She found herself wishing she might have glimpsed this side of his character earlier. Away from ballrooms full of people and the necessity of engaging in idle conversation, he was more at ease and less somber.
Near the cathedral they found a little patisserie and, after collecting tea and sweets, settled into seats on the sidewalk in front of the shop. The night before, Elizabeth had found her thoughts returning again and again to Mr. Darcy. She had reflected that in many ways he remained an enigma to her, so during a lull in the conversation she asked a question that was designed to elicit more information about her companion’s character. “What is Pemberley like?”
He appeared surprised. “What would you like to know about it?”
She shrugged. “Anything. Whatever you would like to tell me.”
He described the house and the grounds. When she did not appear bored, he went on to explain the estate itself and his role in managing the estate and the tenants. She listened with great attention, noting that this topic rendered him more voluble than any other she recalled. It began to dawn on her how much responsibility he held and had been holding since a young age. Many a young man in his position was known as a dandy or a rake, with too much time and money to waste – and insufficient morals to guide them. This did not describe Darcy at all.
He wound down his recitation, “I have been monopolizing the conversation and I fear I have bored you. Please excuse me.” Genuine anxiety shaded his face.
“Not at all,” she assured him, trying to put all her warmth into her words. “Your description caused me to think how great your responsibilities are. You take care of your servants, your tenants, and your sister. But, who takes care of you?”
He was quite taken aback by the question and she instantly realized how forward it was. “Well, of course, the servants see to my needs, but I do not need anyone to take care of me.” He murmured.
“Everyone needs someone to take care of them.” She smiled gently at him.
His gaze became abstracted, suggesting she had given him something new to consider. “I suppose…I have become accustomed to being self sufficient…at least since my parents died.”
As an escape from the intensity of the moment, she gazed down at her hands resting on the café’s table. She suddenly realized that caring for him was what he had requested of her when he proposed. Perhaps some part of him realized he needed a wife’s care, but was she the appropriate woman to provide it? She did not have a good answer to that question.
After finishing their pastries, they retraced their steps back to Mrs. Radnor’s house, strolling unhurriedly along the street, past shop windows, manicured gardens, and picturesque houses. Her opinion of Mr. Darcy was improving, she realized, but it made her slightly uneasy. It had been simple to refuse his suit when she felt anger and contempt for him; admitting to his more admirable qualities could open her to more tender feelings about him.
Now she recognized Mr. Darcy as a witty, responsible, intelligent, caring – and she had to admit, quite handsome – man. His attentions gratified her vanity, she realized, but she wished to be careful not to confuse that sensibility with true affection. For the first time since she had met him, she glimpsed the possibility that she could give her heart to this man. That prospect was disconcerting. He was pleasant and amiable now, but would the cold, unyielding Mr. Darcy reappear?
For his part, Darcy was still finding Elizabeth to be a mystery. Although she had relaxed a bit in his presence today, she was still formal and careful. Her questions about Pemberley had demonstrated her interest in him and his life; he was grateful for the attention. Was he imagining she exhibited signs of tenderness for him? Was she only being polite?
Would she every care about him the way he cared about her? The sensation of not knowing was almost like physical pain – which mingled with the almost unbearable pleasure of being in her company. Careful of her sensibilities, he had been leery of exhibiting too much affection and the restraint was exhausting. Displaying the full power of his attachment, he feared, would frighten her away – but he felt heat between them whenever they touched. Had she experienced it as well?
Perhaps if he relaxed his guard a little and demonstrated some tenderness, it might stir similar sentiments in her. They were passing a park where children raced toy boats in a pond and she watched them with undisguised delight. “You are very quiet.” He ventured.
She grinned impishly. “Are you implying that I am being uncharacteristically quiet?”
He laughed in appreciation. “While it is true that you have decided opinions, it is also true that your lively conversation is one of the things I treasure about you.” She colored slightly, but did not object to this affectionate statement. Dare I try more? He wondered.
The thought suddenly struck Elizabeth that he loved her – apparently had always loved her – just as she was, despite any flaws in her character or her family. She was the one who wished him to be other than he was. The realization made her slightly ashamed of herself.
Elizabeth thought about making a saucy comeback to his declaration, but that did not reflect her true reaction. Instead she opted for sincerity. “Thank you. You are too kind.” Her statement reminded her of something which had troubled her since Rosings. “I must confess that I sometimes find it difficult to make out your character. Since you often argue with me, I had believed you were my harshest critic.”
Darcy seemed surprised by her statement and then thoughtful. “No, I was never that. Do you not see? I would not have crossed swords with you if I did not regard you highly. I rarely debate anything with Miss Bingley.” He grinned wryly.
They turned onto a street lined with shops and crowded with people. Now Elizabeth realized that she had completely misinterpreted his actions. It was true that he usually ignored people whose opinions he did not value; she had observed him simply turn away from conversations with Mrs. Bennet or Lady Catherine. But he most frequently engaged in spirited discussions with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley, two men he counted as close friends. Viewing their previous conversations in this new light compelled her to recognize how sincere and longstanding his affections for her were. Guilt and shame washed over her anew; how had she not realized this before?
“I am honored.” Although the words sounded sarcastic, she said them with breathless sincerity, daring to meet his eyes.
“I hope you know,” he said softly, “that there are many things that I treasure about you.” They had stopped walking the middle of the sidewalk. The intense emotions reflected in his blue eyes took her breath away. His very proximity was mesmerizing.
He gently pulled her to the edge of a sidewalk, next to the window for a dress shop, where they would be out of the way. What does he intend? Will he at
