Impatience is a Virtue

A Meeting on Oakham Mount

Determined to think no more of the egocentric Mr Darcy, Elizabeth arose early Tuesday morning and set off on her usual jaunt to Oakham Mount. She had sneaked into the kitchen with as much stealth as could be managed and snatched a fresh pastry from the tray Cook had placed on the table mere minutes earlier. With Evelina, a novel she only just started, tucked under her dark green pelisse and a matching bonnet strapped haphazardly under her chin, she hurried down the path and out into the fields.

The cold air and mist, turned to gold by the shy rays of sunlight peeking through the clouds, did much to ease her mind as she slowed her pace ever so slightly on her ascent of the mount. At last, red-nosed, bonnet-less, and with a decidedly ruddy glow, she emerged from the mist and reached the peak. The sun had only just fully appeared in the sky and she found herself mesmerized by its beauty.

So absorbed was she that her first realization of Mr Darcy's horse standing surprisingly near her was when it let out a soft neigh. Startled, she spun around to face its very unwelcome owner and, without a word of greeting, inquired whether the gentleman's tendency to frighten young women alone in the countryside was a newfound pleasure.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet. I assure you I had no intention of startling you, I was simply distracted by the beauty of the countryside," said he, with a bow and every effort to sound amicable. It was a truth almost universally unknown that Mr Darcy was extremely attracted to this infuriatingly complicated country gentlewoman. Even though he was already quite lost to her fine eyes, he currently simply felt curious to discover more of Miss Elizabeth's strong opinions, and marvel at her refusal to defer them to himself.

"If that is the case, I suppose you would prefer I leave you in peace as Oakham Mount is no novelty to myself?" she asked rather bluntly, annoyed that her plans had been interrupted by the one man she had no desire to think of any longer.

"There is no need. Surely two people can occupy a hill such as this without disturbing the other's peace," he hoped she could see the slight upturning of his lips, and realize he was trying, and failing rather painfully, to be friendly.

"I suppose it is so. If you do not mind, I intend to continue my reading, as you see," she removed the novel from its hiding place and displayed its cover to the gentleman. Unable to resist an opportunity to insult the man, she added, "I assume this is not one of those books you were so adamant accomplished ladies must read to live up to their title." It irked her that his opinion still affected her no matter how desperately she tried to ignore everything about him.

"On the contrary, Georgiana, my sister, used to be quite fond of the author, and many of her works are housed in Pemberley's library," he replied, obviously put off by her obvious jab at what he had meant to be a compliment.

Why must she be so incredibly confusing? He couldn't help but wonder to himself. It seems every attempt I make at civility is to be thrown back in my face, and for the life of me, I cannot comprehend the reason for her intense loathing.

"Miss Bennet," he tentatively inquired "I realize you find very little pleasure in my presence, rather I would speculate you find it disproportionately disagreeable. Is there any real reason behind this? To my knowledge, I have been only civil towards yourself and your family, despite their behaviour bordering on preposterous far too frequently to go unnoticed."

This tidbit of honesty seemed to open the flood gates, and his train of thought was vocalized with very little filtration, as his frustration with her attitude boiled to the surface.

"I would desperately like to know what it is I have done to harm you so. I cannot bear to be in the presence of such senseless barbarism your mother and younger sisters exhibit, yet I am to be despised simply because I wish to be left alone?" This he very nearly spat out in disdain, and then just as quickly realized how poorly he had spoken. No gentleman would address a woman as he just had, yet he could not be entirely mortified as there was certainly some truth in what he had said.