Scotch and Sirens

Chapter Thirty Six

 

Lizzy spent the next four days chiefly helping Holly and Mrs. Higgins with preserving the harvest for winter consumption. After breakfast they would begin in earnest and continue with few breaks until early evening. Monsieur Vian sat in the kitchen at the table and pealed apples while he entertained them with stories, or listened to Lizzy or Holly tell some, while the women did the preserving. Lizzy was certain he only did this because he was bored, but he never got underfoot, always helped them lift the heavy things and seemed so happy sitting there helping to make the time go faster, that neither she nor Holly suggested other things for him to do.

After dinner she and Mr. Vian would play at the piano, and they would all end the evening with one of them reading aloud to the others – usually it was Mr. Vian, as Mrs. Tournier disliked doing it and Holly and Lizzy were simply too exhausted. Yet even amongst these activities Lizzy still found she had ample time to wonder when, or even if, Mr. Darcy would return. Lord Brougham had been most unhelpful in giving that information when he called on them, and she did not feel she could ask him more than once without sparking too much interest or speculation from those gathered together.

She had now resigned herself to the fact that he would not return at all. His responsibilities to Pemberley were many, especially at this time of the year, and it was some distance to travel just to come back for an exhibition duel. So she resolved to think of the matter no more, but to instead begin to savour the memory of each moment with him. She had known this time would come eventually, and now that it was here she would cope with it.

She had crept out of the house as stealthily as possible this morning with that in mind. She had now managed to take her first solitary walk in weeks and was on her way to a spot that was dear to her heart. She was going to their place by the river and had brought along breakfast. It was where she planned to say goodbye to him once and for all while sitting where they once had together.

It took her some time to get there. She had forgotten how much ground one can cover on a horse compared to walking, and how fast such a distance passed even while walking if one was pleasantly occupied in conversation. Once there, she sat herself down and closed her eyes to rest and make her peace.

 

 

Vian descended to the breakfast parlour only to discover that Elizabeth had left already. He was quite content with his progress with her, and her absence now worried him. If she did not wish his company he would at least try to find out why she had left without him. He finished his breakfast and saddled his horse.

It took him some time before he found her. He had checked the many places they had walked together, but she was nowhere to be seen. He then remembered spotting her with Darcy a long time ago. He spurred his horse into a run and went to the riverside. He dismounted just short of the tree-covered area where he had first seen them and approached it quietly. She was there, alone. He wondered if she were waiting for Darcy. Had he come back and smuggled a missive to her indicating they would meet? Vian knew he had made it impossible for Elizabeth to continue their secret encounters after he began paying her his attentions. Her aunt had taken care to prevent it and he himself had been a willing accomplice in achieving that goal. Would Darcy now be tired of waiting for his intimate moments with his lover and send for her?

Vian decided to wait and see. If Darcy should show up he could always stop the tryst by happening by. He walked around the lawn and chose an observation point on the opposite side where he would be hidden from view when the expected gentleman arrived.

 

 

Lizzy sat for while, basking in the autumn sunlight, focusing on all of their conversations here together. Pleasant smiles and uncontrollable grins graced her face from time to time. She ate while sitting there; still keeping her eyes closed so that she could better imagine him there beside her, leaned on his side with his head propped on his arm in a relaxed way. Her exercise was both pure pleasure and pure pain. The pleasure was obvious; the pain came only from the knowledge that these things could never occur again. Therefore she almost felt an urgency to plant them firmly in her mind so she would not lose them.

She eventually lay back on the grass. Staring up at the sky and watching the clouds slowly pass by, wondering if these same clouds had already moved over his head at an earlier time. They were coming from the direction of Pemberley, so it was possible although unlikely. She wondered what he was doing now. Was he riding out on his property, checking on some issue that might have developed with his tenants, or perhaps meeting with his steward? She imagined him sitting in the music room, listening to Georgiana play, looking on with both pride and love. Did he even think of her and their visits together, and if he did, was it only as a passing memory, jarred into existence when he passed a place they once walked together and then quickly forgotten again once he moved on?

She realized it was time to go. Not just back to Rosefarm, but back to Hertfordshire, for there was nothing for her here now. Jane would be happy to have her home and she would be happy to have Jane. She decided she would leave after the fair. It would be for the best.

Standing up, resigned, she dusted herself off, took one last look around, and began to make her way back.

Vian watched her go and gave her a few minutes head start before mounting his horse in order to go around and ahead of her. He was slowly walking his horse along, coming out from a side trail, when he accidentally met up with her along her way. He smiled when he saw her approaching and descended his horse casually.

“Good morning, Miss Bennet, what a surprise to meet you here. I did not expect such pleasant company so far from Rosefarm.”

She was surprised to see him but happy that he did not find her earlier.

“Good morning, Monsieur! I am afraid that I was up early and so did not wait for you. I hope you can forgive me, but I had felt the need to walk farther afield today than usual and so could not wait for any man to quit his bed.” She smiled genuinely at him.

Vian pondered her reply for a while. Did she mean that Darcy had overslept?

“Do you like walking farther then? I mean, do you come here often, Miss Bennet?”

“Why no, Monsieur Vian, I do not come here often anymore at all. Not that I ever did,” she quickly amended. “I think the distance I walk depends a great deal on what there is to walk to and what my mood may be at the time.”

“Did today’s walk meet your needs, or you were in a mood to be more fully satisfied during your stroll?”

She thought about this question for a moment. It was a rather strange one if heard with her ears, having knowledge that he did not have. Her needs would have been more fully satisfied had she not been without him in their spot, but her aim had been to indulge in her memories, and she had achieved that.

“One could always wish for more from any experience, but I think I have realised the goals I had set out to satisfy today. One's mood can be modified to fit one's situation as well as one's needs, can it not?”

Vian wondered what that meant. Had she realised she had been wasting her time with Darcy? Having a romance without a future with a man who would never propose? Propose! Why, one who did not even treat her seriously enough to come to their tryst?

“I perfectly agree, Miss Bennet. There is no need to dwell on things that are not within our reach or power. May I be of service in deepening your experiences today?”

She smiled at his thoughtfulness. He was such a polite man.

“I think I am quite fine just walking to Rosefarm with you for now, Monsieur. You do not need to entertain me any further. If I should think of something you can do for me however, I will be sure to let you know, and I thank you for the kind offer.”

Vian was not very disappointed with her answer. It would be strange if she agreed to his offer so openly. It had been worth trying nonetheless. He just needed more time. He was sure that Darcy must have taken his in order to have wandered so far with her.

“Pray, Miss Bennet, are you looking forward to the festivities tomorrow?”

“I am indeed. Are you still planning to enter the fencing challenge?”

“Still? Why would you think I might have altered my plans?”

She was under the impression from things he had said before, that he looked most forward to the duel he would have with Mr. Darcy. She had assumed that since that gentleman was no longer here, Monsieur Vian might not choose to bother any longer, but perhaps she had been wrong in her assumption.

“Sometimes one's plans change. I thought yours may have, but it seems I was incorrect. I look forward to witnessing your skill with the sword then, Sir.”

“Then you certainly shall. But, pray, you must have had a reason for asking. Do you think that Mr. Darcy is not going to enter the challenge?”

She was sure that he would not return, but she could not explain that to Mr. Vian.

“I do not know Mr. Darcy's plans, Monsieur. I am sure he will enter if he is able.”

“Well, I would be disappointed not to have any skilled competitors. But then, maybe Mr. Darcy is not very proficient in the game if he would be so keen to miss it.”

Even though she did not know of Mr. Darcy’s skill level in comparison to the Frenchman, she did know he would not shy away from a challenge if it were in his power to be there. She felt the need to say that now, but fought against the impulse. It would not do to so plainly show her preference for Mr. Darcy to this man, especially after Monsieur Vian’s choice of poems for her at the picnic. It seemed he saw far too much there already.

“I do not know Mr. Darcy's abilities with a sword. However, I am sure that you will find plenty of men there to test your skill against regardless. Pray, tell me, is that the reason you wish to duel — to win?”

“Why, of course. Why else one would take such a challenge upon themselves? I will not be so bold as to say I have never lost, or that I do not consider such a possibility, but one should always fight till the end with winning in mind.”

Lizzy was struck by the difference in Vian's answer with the one Darcy had given her. The Frenchman wanted to win, while Mr. Darcy saw it more as a test of his own skills and an encounter of minds. These two men were so very different from each other, she thought.

“Do you often lose then, Monsieur Vian, and what happens when you do? Are you very disappointed?”

Vian smiled. He found her investigation of his own reactions and disposition very welcome.

“No, not very often, in fact extremely rarely. As you see my method works to my advantage. I am not disappointed with my loss. I rather try to take revenge if the game is worth it, of course, but I can always be happy with what I have. Even if I sometimes fail, my total number of wins makes for my general contentment. You see, Miss Bennet, I am not a man who resents something to others or holds a grudge for long.”

“I see. May I ask what kind of revenge you would take if you decided to, should you suffer a rare loss?”

“Maybe revenge is not the proper word in English. I rather meant something like requesting a rematch.”

“Oh. Well that is a completely different thing than revenge,” she laughed.

They walked along the rest of the long way home talking of the harvest festival and what they could expect there: the craft stalls and people, and the entertainments that might include cockfights, smock races, wrestling, magic shows, and rope dancers, and of course the duelling. However, since many of these events were meant for the farmers and workers of the area, they would not be staying for most of them.

They walked slowly and reached Rosefarm some time later, both ready for a hot cup of tea and some little titbits to go along with it.

 

 

The cool air chilled Darcy's lungs, yet he did not want to ride in the carriage any longer.
He untied his horse and gave his driver directions to Clyne Cottage, while he himself went ahead and eventually strayed from the main road.

He needed time to collect his thoughts before he reached Clyne. Brougham’s constant chattering had been making him feel airless. Darcy knew full well that Brougham had never loved in his life. His understanding was a common one, that if a lady was nice and thoughtful she could not have refused a man like Darcy, and if she was not she could not have refused him either.

What Darcy needed, however, was to examine Elizabeth’s feelings. He could have done it only by being undisturbed and with his mind sober. He spurred his horse on and galloped through the glen to wear away his emotions. This week, spent so far away from Elizabeth, had shown him how much he had got used to her company and exactly how much he needed her beside him. He realised that during all of the time he had spent in Scotland he had forgot to be on his guard. His acquaintance with her had been getting on so well he had become unconsciously accustomed to the thought that it would just be like that forever. Actually, he had been almost thinking about her as if she were promised to him. Yet, the facts were so much different.

Still, there had been something in all the events that had escaped his understanding. He had been trying to recollect every smile, look and gesture they shared. There had been times when their mutual love had seemed so natural and as true as breathing itself. There were moments where he had felt that if he put out his arm she would accept it, and with complete confidence she would follow him wherever he would lead her. Actually, when he thought about their recent encounters, he realised there had not been even one dark day. Why had she refused him then?

True, he had deceived himself once and, though her refusal had struck him like thunder from the sky, he could understand why she did decline. He knew, however, that she no longer held old grudges against him. He had changed since then, and her behaviour toward him was much altered now as well. He thought it was full of honesty and trust. Was it possible that his instincts were telling him the truth? That she loved him as much as he loved her? If so, why had she refused once more? He needed to find out, and to find out soon.

He halted his horse when he reached Rosefarm. It was too late to pay a visit, but the mere awareness that she was there, where the weak lights of night candles were glittering in the cottage’s windows, had a soothing effect on him. She was there, that close, after all the nights of longing spent at Pemberley, and he would see her tomorrow. Just several more hours.

He sighed heavily and turned his horse to Clyne. His men were already occupied with his equipage and Darcy ordered them to accommodate themselves in the inn afterwards. Brougham certainly would not thank him for bringing more people into the house.

Darcy entered the cottage and walked directly to the library where he expected to find his host. He opened the door and froze. Brougham was there, indeed, but the general appearance of the room made him speechless to the point that he could not utter one word of greeting.

Brougham heard a low grunt behind him and turned to see his friend standing in the doorway.

“Well, Darcy?” Brougham said, and navigated his way carefully through the chaos. “What do you think? This is but one day's work, but you must admit I have found myself a most industrious librarian!”

Darcy looked around to appraise the wreckage of what was once Brougham’s library.

“I can only wonder why you have decided to have the work done while you are spending your time in Scotland. I guess it might have been easily accomplished during your absence. Is there a place now in the house where you can offer me brandy and acquaint me with any news?”

Brougham laughed, “Well, I can see how it would irk you to lose your favourite chair like this, but I assure you there are a few very comfortable ones in my study and a couple in my room. The sitting room might do as well, if you're feeling grand.

“In fact, I shall show you where my treasure was moved to in my study, out of the way of this invasion, and you can tell me about your journey to Derbyshire. I trust the colonel and your uncle were well?”

“Yes, they are very well, I thank you.”

Darcy followed Brougham to his study, sat comfortably in a chair situated a short distance from the fireplace and waited for his friend to pour him his brandy.

“Have you seen much of the Rosefarm party? Is Mr. Vian ready to fence us tomorrow?”

“Well, they were here a few days ago – all of them.” He shot a meaningful glance at his friend.

He poked around in the fire to get the blaze going.

“They had tea and I must say…well, it would not do to be bashful about it, but Monsieur Vian seems very eager to show his prowess.”

Darcy observed Brougham’s discomfort with anxiety. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, there really are no two ways about this. He did show remarkable attention to Miss Bennet and… Darcy, I am not certain she does not enjoy his company. Nothing more, but I feel certain she…does not share our view of Monsieur Vian’s character.”

Darcy began to thoughtlessly pace the room until he finally turned to face Brougham.

“What do you mean she enjoys it? Brougham, please, be frank with me.”

“Enjoys it as in does not object to the attention. Whether she welcomes any advances I do not know. But… they seem to find much to talk about, and even if that would not be cause for alarm I cannot help but think Monsieur Vian would not be adverse to influencing her opinions about others.”

Brougham watched his friend. He deserved to know the truth. Perhaps it could help him.

“Darcy. Miss Bennet seemed to rely on Monsieur Vian a great deal when they were here. She… I think she was not feeling too well, and she was obliged – content, even, I think – to find rest on his shoulder when we left them alone so that Mrs. Tournier and her daughter could acquaint themselves with the library.”

Darcy was silent. He approached the window and looked away. When he spoke his voice was low.

“Did she? I can hardly believe it.”

It did not sound like a question, so Brougham did not answer. Instead he walked up to his friend and poured him some more brandy. He leaned against the windowsill, facing the opposite direction and stole a glance at his friend. He sighed and poured himself some more, too.

Darcy finished his brandy in silence.

“Brougham, if you do not mind I think I should go to bed. It was a very long day, and I need to catch some sleep before the duel tomorrow.”

Brougham watched his friend walk out of his study. He could not help but wonder if perhaps he should have kept his thoughts to himself concerning Mr. Vian and Miss Bennet, especially after his overstepping of the line already just before his friend had left for Pemberley. He shook his head, went to his chair and sat down, resting his legs up on the table.

No, he thought, Darcy should know how it is, the truth. The man’s mind was completely muddled when it came to this particular woman, and a fresh perspective was needed to help him see what was so clearly before him. It was as if his friend were chasing the wind. Darcy needed to put this woman – whom he had spent far too much time and effort on already – out of his mind once and for all, for his own good, and if it took a good friend’s continuous crossing of imaginary boundaries then so be it. After all, those lines were drawn by one who was clearly not able to think straight to begin with. And the woman had refused him twice! Darcy only toyed with his own feelings by pining after a woman who did not see his worth or want him as he wanted her.

Brougham tipped his glass up, finished what remained and then set it down a little too heavily on the table in front of him.

He pondered over Miss Bennet once again. She seemed straightforward and intelligent when he had spoken to her, yet there was something left wanting in her surely, for she knew how Darcy felt and yet she strung him along most unscrupulously. What was her game? There must be one in it for her if she did not make it perfectly clear twice now that she wanted nothing to do with his friend. It was likely that she would have accepted him had that Frenchman not come along. It was clear she preferred a titled man with money over one with only wealth. That must be what she played at, leaving a door open on the off chance Vian did not make an offer. For Darcy would never stay around otherwise, sniffing like a dog after a bone, if she had made it clear there was no chance. A wicked game, indeed, to play on such an honourable man. Someday she would learn her error, but it would be too late. Only when she found herself waiting at home for a man who would seldom come to her would she see what she had missed. And it would serve her right.

“No, damn it!” he said aloud, putting an end to the battle he was having with his own conscious. “He will thank me for it one day. Maybe not soon, but eventually he will see the light, when he is over her… Which is what he needs to be.”

Getting up, he headed for his bed by way of his library. He wandered around it, mindlessly fingering the books that lay in precarious stacks everywhere, hoping the book that would help put him to sleep would somehow jump into his hands. After some time, when it did not seem to find him, he grasped one from the top of the pile nearest the door and took it without looking at the title. It was not until he gazed at its cover, once he was snugly tucked under the covers, that he realised the right book had found him after all.

“Don Quixote,” he murmured, with a deep sigh.

He thought it a definite sign that he had done the right thing. His friend was certainly tilting at windmills. Brougham only hoped Darcy would not suffer the same fate as Alonso Quixano when he finally comes to realise that things cannot always be as we might wish them and that Miss Bennet was only his Dulcinea. She was not a bona fide lady worthy of unending gallantry, but only Aldonsa in disguise. There was no unsullied love to be found there.

 

 

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