Darcy woke at dawn cramped, cold, headachy, and not nearly rested enough. His mind was clouded with excessive drink and sleep deprivation. He could hardly formulate a coherent thought, but he knew one thing for absolute certain: he was lonely and desperate to hold and kiss his wife. Nothing mattered but the incontrovertible fact that he loved her beyond comprehension and was miserable without her. He approached her door but was informed by an exiting chambermaid that the Mistress was fast asleep. Darcy opted to freshen up, a wise choice in light of his disheveled appearance, and come to her over breakfast and mend their argument, no matter what it took to do so.
While Darcy dressed, Lizzy woke and immediately ran to the chamber pot and was sick again. Marguerite drew her bath and Lizzy gratefully sank into the hot water, too queasy even to think about eating. Lizzy felt as if a blanket had fallen over her head. She was fuzzy and sleepy, the now familiar tendrils of irritation whisking over her once again. Mostly she was overwhelmed by woe from what she foolishly perceived was her husband’s abandonment.
The next two hours were a chaotic mess of the two despondent lovers narrowly missing each other and therefore continuing to leap to false conclusions. By the time they coincidentally encountered each other in the main foyer, their individual emotions were running rampant. Darcy was rushing out the door to attend to an unexpected and serious occurrence at the wool-shearing shed, his horse and Mr. Keith both stomping in agitation in the courtyard. Lizzy was still feeling unwell and her sadness, confusion, and chagrin were rendering her unfit for civil company, so she was heading to the quiet solitude of the conservatory. For several moments they simply stood there in silence, eyes not meeting, as they both frantically grasped for the proper words to verbalize in a public area with the footman holding Darcy’s overcoat within earshot.
“I am on my way out,” he eventually offered. “I do not expect I shall return until late afternoon.”
Lizzy, of course, had no knowledge of the disaster, continued to believe he had slept unperturbed through the night, and refused to meet his eyes, so she did not witness the naked agony and desire revealed therein. “I see,” she murmured. “Well then, until later I suppose. I pray you have a pleasant day, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy was further confused by her flat tone and taken aback by her words. “Pleasant? Elizabeth, I rather doubt… .”
“I thought I would later take a walk about the grounds.” She interrupted him, glancing up for the first time as she continued in a heated rush, “Provided, of course, this meets with the approval of the Master?”
The very second the words passed her lips, as she finally saw the yearning and grief in his eyes, mingled with confusion, she knew she had made a dreadful mistake. It was too late. The Darcy mask of aloof indifference and disdain fell over his face and he straightened stiffly, only the thin line of his lips indicative of his anger and wounding. “Whatever you wish, Mrs. Darcy. Good day, Madame.” With a curt bow, he spun on his heels and left.
Lizzy stood rooted to the spot for long moments, stunned and so horribly ashamed. Her remorse threatened to bring her to her knees and she struggled to breathe as she lunged toward the door, tears pouring from her eyes so she could barely see. “William!” she screamed.
He was halfway down the drive traveling at a brisk canter, but he turned in his saddle. Their eyes met across the distance for the briefest span, but it was enough. He smiled and waved. Lizzy nearly collapsed in relief as she smiled and waved in return. Then he was gone and she would not see him again for four days.
That one fleeting glance was sufficient to sustain her throughout the morning and afternoon. Last night’s storm had passed, leaving the ground boggier than it already was, but the air was clear and sweetly fresh. The sun shone brightly and it promised to be the loveliest day of the spring thus far. Lizzy felt renewed. Her nausea had vanished; her heart was buoyed by her love’s smile; and the constant irritation of the past two weeks had dissipated. She was famished and ate a hearty lunch, chatting pleasantly with Georgiana, who remained unaware of the argument and was simply glad that Elizabeth was well.
Two hours elapsed as Elizabeth and Georgiana practiced on the pianoforte together, talking and laughing in sisterly companionship. Lizzy urgently needed to stretch her legs, the sunny day beckoning to her. Georgiana opted to go for a ride, so the women parted for the latter half of the afternoon. Lizzy confiscated a bucket from the kitchen, visiting briefly with Mrs. Langton and the girls, before she set off. On one of her earlier excursions abroad, she had discovered a copse of dewberries approximately a half mile north on the main road. It was perhaps a week or two premature, but in hopes that a few might be ripe and aware that Darcy adored them, Lizzy set off in their direction.
Her route took her along the main Pemberley avenue to the northwest across the bridge, a good mile by itself. There was a path that led diagonally through the woods to the north beside the river, but Darcy had cautioned her to avoid it in the winter, as it was no more than a narrow deer trail and not well maintained. She strolled leisurely, her spirits soaring additionally with each step she took. By the time she was halfway down the drive she was humming and swinging her bucket like a young girl.
She arrived at the berry thicket, delighted to note that although they were mostly green, there was an ample supply of ripe berries. She continued to hum and sing softly as she picked, actually perspiring in the increasing warmth. Her mind wandered to her husband incessantly as she formulated plans for their evening together. The madness of their argument must be put behind them and, as she envisioned all the titillating ways to make up, her flush increased. Feeling slightly light-headed from the unexpectedly balmy day and her licentious musings, Lizzy tucked her partially filled bucket under her arm and set off for home.
She had crossed the road and taken her first steps south when she heard the rattle of carriage wheels and horses from behind her. She moved to the edge and halted, prepared to amiably greet whoever was approaching, but her brilliant smile froze on her face when she beheld the leering visage of the Marquis of Orman.
He reined his chaise to a halt next to her. “Why, Mrs. Darcy, what a delightful surprise this is! May I inquire as to your health this fine afternoon?”
“I am quite well, thank you, Lord Orman. I trust you are the same?”
“Perfectly delightful, I daresay. What errand brings you out here unescorted, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Merely walking on this fine afternoon, as you pointed out, and collecting dewberries for Mr. Darcy.”
“What a thoughtful wife you are, Madame. Darcy is a fortunate man indeed.”
“We are mutually fortunate. I shall not delay you any further, Marquis. Good day to you.” Lizzy curtseyed and turned to resume her walk.
“Mrs. Darcy, may I offer the services of my carriage? It is warm today and you appear quite flushed.”
“I assure you I am fine and, if you remember, I revealed to you that I enjoy walking, so thank you, but no.” She took several steps before she realized that he was alighting from his vehicle.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he called to her and she stopped, “I would like to take this opportunity, if you will allow, to apologize for my behavior at the Masque. It was inexcusable and I am deeply remorseful. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
She glanced at him, flushing at the reference to that horrible event, and extremely uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Lizzy was by nature a forgiving person and, despite Darcy’s assertions as to the exact nature of Orman’s character, she wanted to believe he was truly repentant. She smiled slightly and again briefly met his eyes. “Let us not speak of that occasion, My Lord. It is best to put such unpleasantness behind us.”