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Mr Darcy used the excuse of his aunt’s illness to make a speedy departure before noon. There was no one to think a thing about it when I walked out with him upon his leave-taking. We strolled together out the entry, down the brick steps, and along the vast lawn. At a place just to the east of the walkway that was neither in view of the house nor of his coach, he halted, turning to look down at me.

I wondered what he saw; I had repaired my appearance, but in my high-necked grey gown and lace cap, I supposed I appeared as the Maiden Spinster, sprinkled in shelf dust. He gently clasped one of my front curls, rubbing the lock between his thumb and finger, studying it as if it were words written in a strange tongue. I hoped he would kiss me again, but was also attacked by an unusual shyness.

“Will you remove this?” he asked, lightly touching the frilled edge of my cap, his expression almost indifferent.

It was a strange request, but I obeyed as if in a dream, plucking pins and pulling off the thing. It seemed wicked, somehow, to be discarding even so innocuous a piece of my wardrobe in the light of day, in a place where really, anyone might round the bend and see us. It made me self-conscious, and I wondered whether he would be so dispassionate if I demanded the removal of his cravat. I handed my cap to him, and he took it with some surprise, as if he did not know what to do with it.

I flushed; for some reason, I had thought he wanted the ugly thing as a sort of keepsake, and I snatched it back.

“Well, goodbye, then,” I said, studying the high polish of his boots, my cheeks on fire.

A large hand clasped my chin and tilted it upwards. Unable to avoid his direct gaze, I saw his amusement. Suddenly, I was exasperated. “How am I to understand what odd freaks a gentleman might take into his head?” I said, sounding every bit the Maiden Spinster. “I have never been engaged.”

A peculiarly intense expression filtered into his eyes, his hand tightening on my chin. “No,” he said. “No, you have not.”

And then he did what seemed to me at the time an odd thing; he pulled off his gloves, dropping them heedlessly to the ground. His fingers threaded in my hair, dislodging pins, pulling a little painfully, even, where the pins tried to restrain his searching hands. When they were buried in the masses of my hair, he simply stood there, looking at what he’d done, clenching them briefly. I thought he might kiss me again; our faces were very close—I could feel the heat of his breath—happily nothing like Mr Plimpton’s. But after a few fraught moments, he extricated his fingers, more carefully this time, though I was certain my hair now looked a fright. He stepped back, bent down, picked up his gloves.

“I will return as soon as possible,” he said. “Be well.”

We were back to formalities, so I gave a little curtsey. He bowed.

Nodding curtly, he turned on his heel and strode towards the carriage. I plunged my hands in my pockets, following more slowly to watch him drive away. My right hand touched my embroidery scissors, enclosed in a leather case, and the handkerchief I had meant to finish stitching today. Without letting myself think about it, I withdrew them and hastily clipped one of my curls, wrapping it in the linen.

“Wait,” I called, hurrying forward. “Wait, please.”

He stopped, nearly to his carriage, and slowly turned, his countenance inexplicably fierce. “Yes?”

His coachman and his man stood nearby, openly curious, gawking.

“I only…” I trailed off, back to blushing again in the face of his apparent anger. Awkwardly, I stuck out my hand, as if to shake his.

Slowly, he held out his in return, and I placed my gloved hand against his palm, dropping the handkerchief onto it. He stared at it for a moment before fisting his hand around it.

“Goodbye, Mr Darcy.”

“Thank you,” he said, his anger muted though not completely disappeared, but his voice less harsh. He bowed again. I stood stiffly, feeling as though I had made a fool of myself and thus back to being annoyed with him—but it was a familiar emotion, and easily borne.

He strode to his carriage; I watched to see if he would drop my offering onto the ground, but he had the courtesy to keep it, at least until I was out of sight. We were off to a grand start.


Tags: Julie Cooper Historical