Chapter 12 A Test of Fire

Returning from Meryton with his purchases made, Mr. Darcy slowed his horse as he approached the churchyard. The unassuming stone chapel stood at a distance down the lane from the village proper, a path he selected. Another road would have taken him directly to Netherfield Park. But the road chosen, while longer, would take him past Longbourn, where his heart resided.
The church bell hung high in the tower, a prominent feature over the double wooden doors. Beside the sanctuary, a gathering of tombstones dotted the field leading back to the woods. A lone figure stood hooded in the yard, but he recognized the dark green cloak belonging to Miss Elizabeth that he had just spied that morning. Guiding his steed to the gravel drive before the church, he dismounted and walked slowly, reverently to the woman he wished to count as his own.
When she did not turn despite his effort to make his presence known, he stood quietly behind her, willing her to feel well and happy. Before them were many stones darkened by age, the last name barely perceptible. And between the groupings, indentations of newly disturbed earth. The victims from the fire, all laid to rest two weeks ago but long before Miss Elizabeth had healed.
The tip of his nose began to grow cold and Darcy pulled his arms across his chest to keep his body heat close to him.
She shivered.
Feeling concerned, he stepped closer than propriety allowed, suddenly feeling another’s gaze upon them. Turning around, the shadowy figure of the vicar stood in the window, almost like a ghostly apparition in the dim light. Mr. Darcy gulped, realizing that Elizabeth must have come to talk to him.
“Are you always so silent?” she asked, angrily.
Mr. Darcy abandoned his vigil of the church window to tend to the woman who had occupied his thoughts, sleeping and awake. He cleared his throat but felt a lump seize his airway.
“Well?” she demanded, turning around to face him, practically landing in his arms as she struggled to keep her balance with her walking cane.
Instinctively, he reached out to catch her at the elbow, steadying her stance. He gasped as tears streamed down her face.
“It is my experience that when young women cry, it is best to let their tears fall. Speak nothing and your words cannot worsen her affliction.”
Elizabeth fumed at such a logical explanation that did nothing for her current predicament.
“Speak nothing and your words cannot soothe her affliction, either.”
Mr. Darcy licked his lips and held his breath. She was so close to him and yet the distance between them felt great.
“You are far from home,” he remarked, looking north in the direction of Longbourn. “Should you be walking this far when you’ve only recently recovered?” he asked, looking down at the walking stick that belied her true condition since the fire.
“I walk better than they do,” she said, sniffing, and regaining her composure.
“I am most pained for your loss. That night was . . .” he trailed off, catching her gaze. Locking eyes with her flooded his mind with memories of the assembly before the great tragedy.
“Many lost more. I loved my dear friend, but she was not my sister, my daughter,” Elizabeth said, reminding herself of how she must not fall too deeply into a melancholy that was not her burden. Those were the reassuring words of the vicar, though Elizabeth had wanted more answers than that. Charlotte and Maria were both so young, why had John not been able to find them? She would never wish her sisters had not been spared, but how had the Bennets been so lucky and the Lucases not?
Mr. Darcy offered his arm to provide an opportunity to walk. Elizabeth shifted her walking stick to her left hand and looped her right through his. Unconsciously, he led her over to the bench on the far side of the churchyard. But she refused to sit down when they reached it.
“Part of me wishes you had left me in the tavern,” she said, quietly.
The words made him halt.
“You cannot mean that.”
Elizabeth turned towards him with a defiant stare. “What is it like to live your life purely by your own desires and wants?”
Confused, Mr. Darcy replied with a shorter tone than he intended. “I cannot guess, I have never lived in such a manner.”
“At least your family places no demands upon you.” She snorted as she acridly thought once more about her buffoon of a cousin, encouraged and manipulated by her parents, offering a proposal of marriage on the second day of their acquaintance.
“I have no mother or father, but I assure you that guardianship of my sister has not granted me a light responsibility.”
Elizabeth thought for a moment, Dr. Stevens had mentioned that Mr. Darcy had a sister. “But you travel without her. Who is she with when you are gone?”
Mr. Darcy gritted his teeth, suddenly feeling accused of some great crime he did not believe Miss Bennet could possibly have any information about. “It is for her protection! Not every young lady strives to live so wholly independent of everyone around her.”
Elizabeth smirked. “A fault of mine you surely disapprove.”
Mr. Darcy caught the twitch of a smile on her lips and realized he had been goaded into a fallacy of logic. He could not suddenly claim to disapprove of Elizabeth’s headstrong and independent ways when he had so often enjoyed the opportunity to know her better.
“I would approve most ardently of a lady who served her needs, and the needs of others, as circumstances dictated.”
“And her desires?” she whispered.
He granted her a roguish smile, making her giggle and blush.
“If only I am so fortunate enough to make them my concern.”
Stunned by his forwardness, Elizabeth finally took a seat on the cold bench to remind herself of her circumstances. Her attraction to Mr. Darcy was nothing she could deny, but it did not follow that the man was anything more than an encourageable flirt! He was promised to another!
“Forgive me, I have offended you,” he said, taking a seat next to her.
Elizabeth chose to change the subject to Jane. She knew not why, but her heart felt that if she brought up Mr. Bingley and her sister, she could perhaps deduce an answer about Mr. Darcy’s behavior.
“My sister disclosed to me what passed between her and your friend. Were you aware they have been secretly engaged since the night of the fire?” she asked.
“I held suspicions and Bingley confirmed more to me this morning. But I believe last night your father approved of a respectful courtship, in light of your family’s loss.”
“Indeed, there will be two felicitous unions, although I am unsure when the other shall take place.”
Mr. Darcy closed his eyes and suspected the worst. “Your cousin, then, he brought the matter to a point?”
“He did,” she sniffed.
“I suppose I should wish you joy,” he spat, rising from the bench, believing she had accepted her cousin out of duty to her family and therefore the source of her tears. Elizabeth watched him curiously as the man appeared suddenly greatly agitated. Then he turned around, and his eyes were pained again.
“But it is not too late if I were to step forward and speak to your father?”
“There is nothing you could say to my father to change your circumstances, sir. And why would you wish me joy?”
Mr. Darcy blinked. His mind raced. “Miss Elizabeth, are you engaged to marry your cousin?” he asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. “But you are engaged to your cousin, and it is I who should wish you joy, but I am afraid I cannot,” she uttered, grinding the cane into the dirt to rise from the bench. She started to turn away but he grasped her free hand, then bowed solemnly over it, kissing the top.
“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” he professed, breathlessly.
Elizabeth held her breath. She had considered perhaps he felt an attraction to her, but not that he loved her! Was she truly to entertain two proposals in one day?
“I was concerned at first, that my feelings were the product of the crisis, the fire, and the warnings of your father affirmed such, but I overcame that worry when you fell ill again. I realized what the Bard writes could be true, ‘Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service.’”
Blushing, Elizabeth looked down, not trusting herself to speak at first. She tried to sort through her thoughts on the matter, now that he had declared. She wanted to tell him that at first she despised his vanity, but learned it was his protection of self against an uncomfortable situation.
She also wanted to tell him how she worried that because he had rescued her, there was a feeling of an impossible debt, one she could never hope to repay. Like him, she also could not trust her first feelings because they came mixed with so much pain and despair of the future, even a small glimmer of hope blazed brightly.
“And I very nearly offered for your hand last night, but then your mother laid bare the circumstances of your family—”
Anger suddenly returned to Elizabeth’s consciousness. She was to endure two proposals in one day it appeared and both men took exception to her family’s status.
“Mr. Collins I might rightly understand finding concern with my dowry, but those with so much can surely hold no scruples about such trifling matters?”
“Mr. Collins?” Mr. Darcy released her hand as her interruption derailed his confession about overcoming such obstacles to making an offer for her hand, which he had not entirely completed.
“Yes, Mr. Collins.”
“You compare my declaration of love and admiration to his?”
Elizabeth defiantly glared at the man she so urgently wanted to kiss and at the same time, run away from. Thus far in her experience, Mr. Darcy achieved his aims. He answered to no one. His manners, though not entirely rude, often left little consideration for others when he was so quick to be direct.
“The man stated similar positions, though he did remark on singling me out, which I suppose he meant as a compliment. When he began to declare my lack of fortune concerned him not, I also cut him off just this afternoon.”
Mr. Darcy opened his mouth to speak but faltered when it came to words.
No longer as affected by the physical attraction to Mr. Darcy now that she was no longer feeling his touch, Elizabeth allowed her mind to wander and realize the utter folly of her life.
“Did you also intend to profess your love for me amongst the graves?” she asked, so matter-of-factly, the spell of romance was thoroughly shattered.
“No,” he replied.
“Well, thank goodness for that, I suppose,” she said, making a silly face at him to dispel his anger as well, and the man laughed. He again offered her his arm, and she accepted, the physical activity needed to salve both of their wounded egos. This time, he began their walk back to the other side, where his horse waited for him.
“I cannot speak for other men, but I am not certain I shall recover swiftly from this rejection,” he stated.
Elizabeth’s tinkling laughter almost brought him to the brink of rage again.
“I did not reject you, sir. You asked me no question,” she pointed out, there was no completion to his proposal any more than their last chess game. But this time, she did not grant him a chance to speak more and undo the small truce they held.
She stopped walking and turned to face him. Closing her eyes, she resolved to be brave, like her sister Jane.
“Please, before you ask me anything, I ask for time,” she managed, finally opening her eyes to see his, suddenly not pained but bright and wide with happiness. “If you will permit, though I was not so kind in granting you full range to vent your concerns, I would like for you to hear mine.”
Still stunned that she had declared he was not rejected, Mr. Darcy cleared his throat, glancing nonchalantly at the church window. As he suspected, the vicar stared from the window still.
“I would hear anything that you would tell me,” he confessed.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and they began walking again. “I am not quite well from the fire. My feet are pained, still, and I suffer nightmares.”
“I should recall Dr. Stevens,” he said, and she emphatically stated otherwise.
“That is part of my reservation. You did not listen to me when I expressed that I did not want my burns treated by him. Nor did my father listen, so I give you grace that you at least did not know me well enough. But that day and my subsequent illness are worsened in memory because I held no control over my person,” she stated, taking a moment to glance at his face and seeing he looked confused.
She sighed, then paused once more, placing both hands upon the cane she used to help her walk. “Men answer to themselves. Wives answer to their husbands. I would very much like to respect and esteem you beyond the trappings of a physical attraction, as I have seen the damage left behind when such passion fades.”
“You fear I will stop loving you?” he asked.
Elizabeth smiled. “In a way, or perhaps come to love me in a way aberrant, as a means of preserving your peace.”
Mr. Darcy tilted his head to the side as he considered what Elizabeth spoke, assuming she was describing the marriage her parents had.
“I also do not wish to lose my voice over my own life. I have seen my mother, desperate to fix problems she sees, problems she needs the aid of my father. And he mocks her.”
“I will never mock you,” Mr. Darcy promised.
“I sincerely hope we never mock each other, tease gently, perhaps, but not the cruel, tormenting kind of dismissal that comes from derision, not devotion.”
Mr. Darcy reached out for her hand, but she held fast to the cane.
“You have considered your future happiness a great deal, it seems,” he observed, still holding out hope she would accept his offered gesture.
“That is why I ask for time. Time for us to learn of each other, time for us to know one another, before we . . .” Her words trailed off as she could not quite bring herself to assume they would wed, practically proposing to him!
“And I shall honor your request, Elizabeth,” he said, daring to use her first name as a means of cementing their unorthodox understanding.
“Thank you, Fitzwilliam,” she tried, taking his hand and smiling.
Waiting by Mr. Darcy’s horse, a conspicuous carriage sat parked and the happy couple made their way back to the church drive. Mr. Bingley and Jane descended from the carriage, eager to congratulate the couple, but both of them shook their heads at the exuberant expressions of their respective sister and friend.
Mr. Bingley’s expression fell first, quite vexed at his friend’s nonverbal communication of shaking his head. “But, but, you two appear as though—”
Elizabeth laughed. “Do not worry, Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy and I are still friends,” she said, with a knowing smile to the gentleman next to her.
Spying no one else in the carriage, Elizabeth suddenly felt embarrassed anew by her own family. What was Jane thinking? What was her mother thinking sending Jane by herself?
“After you left, Lizzy, Mama was unbearable. Father left for the library and Mr. Collins sulked until deciding to take himself out for a walk. She was such a nervous wreck that I couldn’t bear it any longer.”
Elizabeth blushed and noticed Mr. Darcy kept to a stony expression of indifference. Her heart pained for him to be reminded of Mr. Collins’ proposal and she almost wished she could take back her words that halted his own.
“So,” Mr. Bingley built suspense, then reached down to take Jane’s hand and kissed it. “We told her! That Mr. Bennet had agreed to courtship and now, thanks to Mrs. Bennet, there will be a wedding!”
“In the New Year,” Jane gushed, receiving an embrace from her sister.
“That is wonderful news!” Elizabeth said, and realizing the sky was getting darker by the moment, regretfully reasoned that they ought to be leaving.
Elizabeth boarded the carriage with Jane and Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Darcy bowed and mounted his horse. To their surprise, he rode ahead and left the slow-moving vehicle behind.
Not a quarter-mile down the road, Jane began needling her sister, despite Mr. Bingley’s presence.
“Whatever did you do to offend Mr. Darcy?” she asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. “Oh he is not offended, I believe. Driven perhaps, by a mission.”
Mr. Bingley laughed as he sat next to Jane. “See, I told you we did not need to intervene where it came to those two.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at Mr. Bingley, eternally grateful it had indeed not come to any interference on his part.
“Is he engaged to his cousin?” Jane asked.
Elizabeth shook her head.
As she turned away from her sister to stare out the window, she communicated that she did not wish to speak any further on the subject. It was just as well because Jane and Mr. Bingley began discussing plans for the following day of Caroline hosting the ladies for tea, plans that were not yet shared with Miss Bingley.
As elated as Elizabeth had felt in the previous hour, working out an understanding with Mr. Darcy in the odd manner they had managed, the joy evaporated to her more familiar companion of melancholy. She had not told a falsehood that there was more healing for her to do, in her body, mind, and spirit. With any luck, the wedding of Jane and Mr. Bingley would take the focus off of her for the next few weeks granting her that space to do so.