A Meeting by the Stile (Heywood Hardy)

Chapter 1

18 November 1811

Monday dawned with all the brightness of a cloudless day and an abundance of female felicitations. Fitzwilliam Darcy welcomed the brightness of the day. The greetings from his host’s sisters, he did not.

“Good morning, Mr. Darcy.” Caroline Bingley hurried to reach the step he was on as he descended Netherfield’s grand staircase. “It is a glorious morning for a walk in the garden. Is it not, Louisa?”

“Indeed, it is,” Louisa Hurst agreed with her younger sister. “You should join us, Mr. Darcy.”

“I am afraid I cannot. As you can see, I am dressed for riding.”

“Are you?” Louisa cried. “I had not noticed. I suppose it was the beauty of the sun shining through the window above the door, as well as the knowledge that I will be able to enjoy a morning ramble without being interrupted by guests, that had my mind occupied so much that I did not notice your attire.”

That was highly unlikely. Louisa could, at any given moment, recite the sweet delights of a particular garment worn by a stranger she had only seen for a few moments in passing, and in the next instant, she could overflow with caustic vitriol about the hatpin so and so had dared to pair with a hat of one style or another. She had seen what he was wearing.

“It is dreadfully quiet with just us at Netherfield now, do you not think?” Caroline asked.

“I did not find the Miss Bennets to be a particularly boisterous pair of guests.” Both Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth had been charming and made no demands that they be entertained.

“You did not sit with dear, sweet Jane,” Caroline replied.

Dear, sweet Jane had been dear and sweet to Caroline and Louisa when she arrived and when she left. However, between those times, she had been a source of discontent, but not because Miss Bennet was disagreeable or demanding. It was that she had a sister who was both enchanting and caring enough to tend to dear sweet Jane while she convalesced.

“Did Miss Bennet talk incessantly?” he asked, though he knew full well that she was not the sort to do so.

Louisa giggled. “No, that particular quality is the domain of her mother and youngest sisters.”

Darcy cringed as Louisa’s thoughts mirrored his own, and he had no desire to be easily compared to Mrs. Hurst.

Caroline tittered. “Indeed! Miss Lydia is the worst of the lot with her ceaseless talking about balls and officers! The youngest Miss Bennets would never be accepted anywhere in town. They are far too unrefined.”

Again, Darcy flinched as another of Bingley’s sisters voiced his thoughts. How had he come to this? He had not been raised to be so disparaging of others.

“Miss Lydia is a good number of years younger than Miss Bennet,” he said. “Perhaps with time, she will improve.”

He placed his hat on his head and prepared to take his leave. He had had his fill of taunts and teases about the Bennets last evening. He had had his fill of casting his own barbs. Indeed, as he listened to Caroline and Louisa this morning, he was rightly ashamed of himself. He did not wish to begin his day with more of the same.

In fact, he would like nothing better than to think on things other than Bennet ladies – well, one Bennet lady in particular, the one who was enchanting and caring, the one who was provoking Louisa and Caroline to oppose the entire Bennet family, the one who, had she better connections, would warrant their jealousy. However, as it was, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a pretty lady to admire but not to pursue. No matter how much Darcy found himself wishing to do just that. And that was why he desperately needed to find something else about which to think.

Louisa gasped. “You defend her? Caroline, it is worse than we imagined. Shall we write the announcement for the paper?”

“What announcement?” he asked, though he was not so stupid as to not understand Louisa’s meaning. “I know of nothing to announce.”

“Why! It is only a matter of time until you have been trapped by Mrs. Bennet and tied to one of her daughters,” Louisa answered.

“With any luck, it will be the fine-eyed Elizabeth.” There was an acerbic edge to Caroline’s jibe.

“I will thank you not to plan my future for me. I shall not be trapped by anyone.” He looked pointedly at Caroline for she was the most determined, teasing flirt when he was around her. “Good morning to you both.”

And with that, he took his leave of them and Netherfield’s house.

~*~*~

Twenty minutes of riding in solitude later, he finally felt the presence of Bingley’s sisters slide from his shoulders and tumble down the field behind him as his horse raced along it. Feeling lighter, he slowed his horse to a walk and inhaled the tranquility of his surroundings. For several minutes he rode, taking in the vistas and views without a single, solitary care pricking his mind and interrupting the indulgence. However, those cares could not be held off for long. His was a mind that was continually working on something. It rarely stood idle or allowed itself to be filled with emptiness.

Of course, when his mind could be no longer be held at bay, it returned to his most recent topic of contemplation, Miss Elizabeth. It was her laughing eyes and smiling lips that first invaded the blissful serenity of his ride. They called to him, begging him to defy whatever she had just said, while her light and pleasing figure taunted him to dance with her, to hold her hand, and to draw her along a garden path to a secluded arbor where he and she could be alone.  Whether awake or asleep, these visions tormented him. It was a disturbing reality into which he had fallen, and the most troubling part of his current existence was that Caroline had been right about something earlier. He did find Netherfield dull. Ever since yesterday, after returning from services, Netherfield had felt devoid of life.

He had struggled to occupy himself with anything for any length of time yesterday. Bingley had even beaten him handily in a game of billiards.

Darcy would wonder what had become of him if it were not for the fact that he already suspected he knew. He was almost certain he had fallen in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He had not intended to allow such a thing to happen. He had even taken care on Saturday to not speak to her or even look at her more than he absolutely had to. Yet, he had not avoided the danger of his heart being entangled.

All was not lost, however. Miss Elizabeth was gone. She was at her home, and three miles separated them. He would see her on occasion, but he would not be constantly in her presence. This weak longing, this infantile infatuation, this ember of love, would grow weaker and be extinguished soon.

But, his heart argued, why must it be so?

“Father married for love,” he said to the morning breeze. “Your mother’s pedigree was exceptional. She had a fortune and ties to the powerful Earl of Matlock.” He quoted what his father had often said to him when discussing his future as master of Pemberley and his need to choose a wife. At the time, choosing a wife was years in the future, as, he had also thought, was the day when he would take his father’s place. Unfortunately, he had only been right about one of those things. His need for a wife had not been hastened, but his role as Master of Pemberley had been thrust upon him much sooner than he had been prepared to take it.

He smiled as he remembered his mother and the way his father’s face would soften when speaking of her. Theirs was a match which others envied. There were no whispers of lovers or discontent. There could not have been any, for theirs was an ardent love – fine and stout, unbendable, and with a constancy that outlived life itself.

Be that as it may, there was one grievance that entered their marriage and remained even after his mother had died. Lady Catherine. Darcy’s aunt. His mother’s only sister.

“A gentleman does not just marry a lady. He joins himself to a family forever.” That, along with a “take care where you allow your heart to go,” was how his father had always ended their discussion.

And that was why his heart was not to be encouraged in its desires for Miss Elizabeth. Her fortune was small – if it could even be called a fortune in the most generous use of the word. Her pedigree was littered with individuals, who, though they might be decent enough people, held a lower status in society than he did. Those two complaints were not overly grievous. He needed no propping up of his accounts, nor was he so high in the step as to shun any connection to trade. It was that final admonition from his father about joining himself to a family that was the hinge on which his disapproval of Miss Elizabeth as his wife swung.

He could not entirely fault Caroline or Louisa for their disparagements of the Bennets, for the criticism was not fabricated out of bits of fluff and fancy. Mrs. Bennet was boisterous. Her youngest daughters were left unchecked. And Mr. Bennet seemed incapable of managing either his estate or his family. Perhaps another man could overlook such things, but to Darcy, they were enough to make him challenge his heart. Love could not be enough in this case, could it be?

Just as his heart was arguing with him that love had supported his father when faced with the annoyance that was Aunt Catherine, Darcy crested a hill and saw the lady whom he was attempting to forget. She was sitting on a stile, her bonnet rested on the stone wall next to her, and she seemed to be watching something most intently.

He should turn around and return to Netherfield. He should not go in her direction. It was folly to even think he could safely stop and talk to her. Yet, despite all that he knew he should not do, he walked his horse in her direction.

As he approached, she glanced over her shoulder. Where was her quick smile? Her face turned away from him, and he saw her brush at her cheeks. Was she crying?

“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?” His heart was pounding, and he seemed unable to dismount his horse quickly enough.

She stood and curtseyed. “I am well, Mr. Darcy. I am just a bit melancholy this morning.”

She was not well. Her cheeks were damp, and her eyes and nose were red. She had not shed only a few tears. Whatever was troubling her was more than a touch of melancholy.

“Please, be seated. I do not wish to take you from your repose.” He now stood across the stile from her. “May I join you for a few moments?”

Her eyes grew wide, and she blinked twice before she answered. It was as if the thought of him wishing to spend time with her was shocking.

“Of course,” she stammered, stepping to the side so he could cross the stile. “However, I fear I will not be pleasant company.”

Having crossed the stile, he chose a grassy spot and sat down while Miss Elizabeth retook her seat. He tried to ignore her look of bewilderment by leaning back on his hands and gazing toward the sky.

“I do not ask to join you so that you can entertain me as one would a guest in her sitting room.” He glanced at her. “You appear to be carrying a heavy burden, and I only wish to offer my assistance.”

Oh, he knew he was tossing himself directly in danger’s path, but she looked so vulnerable that he simply had to make some attempt to comfort her. He would not be able to live with himself if he were to see her so distraught and ride away. Therefore, he would brave the possibility of a stronger attachment, one which may not ever be able to be broken, being formed.

“Will you share it with me? Your burden?”

He sat quietly as she smoothed her skirts and fidgeted with the sleeve of her pelisse. Finally, she drew a breath and nodded.