Page 56 of Such Low Connections

“They are all lovely,” Elizabeth said sincerely. “But if I picked one to take away, maybe, it would be one of those yellow roses that are almost the colour of sunshine.”

“The Belle de Jour,” Georgiana pronounced happily, selecting a stem supporting a not quite open flower and applying her secateurs. “Did you know that all yellow roses come from China originally?”

“I did not,” admitted Elizabeth, taking her flower with pleasure. “I’m afraid that my knowledge of roses cannot compete with yours, Miss Darcy.”

“It’s a way of remembering my mother,” the younger woman admitted with a shy smile. “I’ll always think of her every time I come out here.”

“I’m sure that is how she would like to be remembered,” Elizabeth remarked, warming to Miss Darcy even more with these unsophisticated confidences.

As Elizabeth’s liking for Mr Darcy’s sister grew, so too did her contempt for George Wickham, who had so shamefully abused Georgiana’s naive affections for his own greed. This girl was not even a year older than Lydia.

“You may call me Georgiana, if you wish,” added the younger woman after a short pause. “I feel we know each other quite well already.”

“Thank you, I shall, and you shall call me Elizabeth too, so long as your brother approves, that is.”

“Oh, Fitzwilliam approves of most things that make me happy,” Georgiana reassured her with a smile. “When he does not approve, that is how I know the matter is really very serious, and I listen to him. He is generally the best brother in the world.”

“Your confidence does Mr Darcy credit,” replied Elizabeth, surprised but pleased to hear what Georgiana said.

She had not imagined Mr Darcy as an indulgent or affectionate guardian. Clearly, she had been wrong. His younger sister not only held him in high regard, but from what Elizabeth had seen of the two of them together that day, Georgiana genuinely loved him.

Likely Elizabeth’s uncle was right, and Mr Darcy was quite a different person in his own home and with his own family. Why this should be so was still mystifying, but then so much else was too, when it came to Mr Darcy.

“Now, which rose is your favourite, Georgiana?” Elizabeth asked, moving on from this personal puzzle.

“My favourite is different every year. This year I think it is the Great Double White, the roses on the tall bush here. Doesn’t it smell wonderful?”

“It does,” Elizabeth agreed. “What a beautiful scent!”

The secateurs came out again, and Georgiana soon had her rose too. They were about to stroll over to the wooden bench where Mrs Annesley and Mrs Gardiner were talking comfortably together, and offer them the chance to choose roses, when Mr Darcy appeared.

“My sister has converted you to her enthusiasm for roses, I see,” he observed with a smile, gesturing to the flower in Elizabeth’s hand.

“It is a very well-kept rose garden,” Elizabeth returned approvingly. “I am not at all surprised at Georgiana’s zeal. I believe I should share it in her position. Do you have a favourite rose too, Mr Darcy, or are they all alike to gentlemen?”

At this question, he smiled to himself with some inner reflection.

“I don’t have Georgiana’s expertise or informed preferences,” Mr Darcy said. “But my mother’s favourite roses were those deep red ones there, so I shall take them as my favourites too.”

Saying this, he took the secateurs from his sister and cut two velvety red roses from a bush, presenting one each to his sister and Elizabeth. The brief brushing of his fingers on hers as she accepted her rose sent a shiver of peculiar sensation through Elizabeth’s veins.

“Red Double Velvet,” Georgiana pronounced happily, unaware of anything unusual. “Come, let’s go and give this one to your aunt.”

“I must take these fishing flies back to Mr Gardiner at the lake.” With a polite bow, Mr Darcy excused himself and was gone again.

Elizabeth gazed after him for some seconds, still trying and failing to extrapolate a complete character from all the new facets she was seeing. She could not regret declining his proposal, but she certainly felt some unexpected pangs of sadness when she recalled the scene.

Mr Darcy had never once apologised for any of his rudeness, Elizabeth reminded herself. Nor had her own belief changed that both love and respect were essential in a marriage. No, she could not regret turning him down, only the manner in which she had done it, and the unfair accusations she had made, especially at a time when he was under siege from far weightier accusations than hers.

And yet, if she had no regrets, why could she not seem to stop thinking of it?

Firmly telling herself that she would think of it no more, Elizabeth followed Georgiana over towards the older ladies.

∞∞∞

The entire day was a success. From walking in the gardens to luncheon and duets on the piano with Georgiana, Elizabeth enjoyed herself immensely and had the sense that everyone else was equally content.

All Mr Darcy’s awkwardness and arrogance seemed to have fallen away from him. If Elizabeth had not had the evidence of her own memory, she would not have thought him the same man who had offered her such an insulting proposal at Hunsford. Had he learned some humility since she last saw him?