#regency stuff

“I shall not wither away if you go out to your club, nor will I be affronted,” she said.

“And you would perhaps enjoy some time to do those things ladies do in more exclusive society. I have been selfish, haven’t I, keeping you close all the time, when you have had far fewer opportunities to experience Town, casting no aspersions upon the Gardiners, to be sure,” he said.

“You are never selfish. But I suspect, I know you have had a gentleman’s occupations in London and you have not undertaken any of them,” she replied.

“I would hardly leave you to gamble or drink,” he said.

“But you have not gone on your morning rides, though Colonel Fitzwilliam mentioned how you loved them. And Jane says Mr. Bingley asked whether you have been to see Jackson, whom I gather must be friend of long and enduring acquaintance,” Elizabeth said.

Darcy laughed.

“I have not missed my rides, when no park in London can compare to Pemberley and when you wake so prettily, so willing to share your morning chocolate,” he said.

Elizabeth blushed. Darcy had not missed his rides by any measure.

“And Jackson is not an old friend. Bingley refers to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing academy,” Darcy said.

“I had not imagined you boxing,” Elizabeth said.

“It is the sport of a gentleman, just as fencing is, beneficial in many respects and Gentleman Jackson’s academy is widely admired. I will admit, I have often found a bout to be a great relief when I am most beset by frustration or worry,” Darcy replied.

“But are you not likely to be injured?” Elizabeth asked. Aloof or convivial, she could not envision her husband striking another man with his bare hands. In extremis, when he found out what Wickham had perpetrated upon Georgiana, Darcy might have considered a duel with swords or pistols, save that any rumor would have been detrimental to his sister’s honor. Darcy, bare to the waist, his elegant hands balled up into fists, sweat upon his brow, pummeling an opponent—this was not within Elizabeth’s ken, though it was reality.

“Not at Jackson’s. I’m not brawling bare-knuckle at a mill,” he said, reaching over to take her hand very gently in his. “And I’m rather quick, even Gentleman Jackson himself has noted it. I land more punches than I take, Lizzie.”

“But your hands—I shouldn’t like for you to be hurt,” she said.

“Then I shall risk opprobrium and use mufflers. They are unwieldy but effective, and generally accepted in practice rooms,” he said.

“And they will keep you safe,” she said.

“I will keep myself safe. But they won’t hurt,” he said.

Written for @janeuary-month Day 22 prompt "gloves"

He had shown such emotion - such heartfelt sincerity in his speech - and tone and expression. She had received him with the minimum of civility which she could bestow. Molly would never have thought that this was what he had struggled with for the many months of their acquaintance, that his intent was to ask her hand, going against his own wishes, and the wishes of his family and friends. He had always seemed to her, cold and unfeeling, or at least that is what their shared acquaintance had told her (all excepting, her sweet sister Mary).

She did not know what to think, and when Mrs Anderson appeared, she begged to be excused from dinner, feeling too weak, and tired from the day’s excitement, or so was her excuse. Molly knew that Mrs Anderson saw something else was troubling her, though she was grateful that her long-standing friend did not enquire into why Mr Holmes had left so abruptly, or what he’d been there for.

His enquiring after her hand, would never be repeated, though she hardly excepted, or hoped for such a thing beforehand. When he’d first entered the village, and they first were acquainted through his friend Mr Watson, she had a vague inclination as to finding him handsome, but his pride, his horrible pride, and treatment of Mr James Moriarty, besides his dashing the hopes of her sister Mary were enough to mark him as the last man she could ever be prevailed upon to marry! So much she had told him, and these accusations as so he claimed were heavy indeed, he could never convince her of otherwise of him being innocent.

But the very next day, when he had found her, despite her best wishes of being left alone – he had put in her hand a thick envelope.

And she had begun to read.

She had gone through every emotion possible of having, denying all of his claims, but the more she read, and re-read his letter, the more she realized Mr Holmes was in the right. The more she realized that she was a fool, letting the flattery of Mr Moriarty get to her, as he had done with everyone else. She understood now why he spoke so openly about his previous acquaintance with Mr Holmes after the gentleman in question had left the county! No one would challenge him otherwise, as no one else would have known Mr Holmes well enough to know what Moriarty had done to his youngest sister, or his lack of a reputation outside of the county. Mr Holmes was universally hated by everyone in the county, so no one would argue with such malevolent chatter.

The news was welcomed and thought genuine, by the sheer fact that Mr Moriarty gave all the airs of being a gentleman, but in truth, he wasn’t a shadow of what Mr Holmes was. It frustrated her, that she had been so wrong in reading his character. He was filled with pride, but such pride, was nothing less than usual compared to his position in life. And she was haunted by his words – of her being beneath him, yet, he would give it all up for her to grant him the happiness of becoming his wife. She had hoped to have seen him one last time before he left, but not long after she had finished his letter for the third time, did she discover that he had called upon Mr and Mrs Anderson to announce that he was leaving for his home county.

Molly found herself touring the home county of Mr Holmes with her aunt and uncle, the ones who lived in Cheapside, and who were sneered upon by the sister of Mr John Watson. The one place where she had never expected to find herself, even so inclined, to find herself at his home. Mr Holmes’ much talked about Bakersville. 

She had been asked by her aunt and uncle whether or not she’d been willing to journey there, as it was the finest home in the county, and when she found that its Master was currently in London, it felt much easier to depart to the home of which she could have been mistress. 

But she felt differently when they were there, her hazel eyes admiring the lakes and surrounding forestry. There was so much to see, and when they were attending to by his housekeeper Mrs Hudson, a wonderful woman who knew her way around the place, besides the family, personally. Her aunt and uncle dared ask the questions Molly merrily thought, even so far as to mention that she was familiar with Mr Holmes. 

And when she was asked whether or not he was handsome - - she had said yes. He was indeed handsome, she had thought to herself, and so, she had, for many months now, though the portrait of him where he bore that familiar smile - - she only recognized when she realized that it was a smile he only shared with her, made her draw for breath where she stood.

Molly felt her cheeks warm, from shame, she could only assume, of them being there, and she was grateful they were venturing outside to the spring air. Mr Holmes would not think of her as such again, and she, realized belatedly, to her own astonishment – that perhaps – she wished he would, once more.

It was when her aunt and uncle were ahead of her, and her mind was half-present, her thoughts scattered, as she wandered the grassy knoll that she glimpsed a fine figure striding in her general direction. 

The sun shone in such a way, that she, nor the figure realized who the other in their path were, and she would never have realized it was him. 

He looked different, the stiffness of his shoulders gone, and the cool expression in his blue eyes when they unfortunately caught her gaze, also, gone. She halted, uncertain of what to do, and so seemed he, but he strode nonetheless towards her. Molly could not look away from him, from the way he seemed to belong to these grounds, from the glittering lakes to the wild trees, and she felt even more than an oddity there she stood. 

He was perhaps, not gentlemanly attired, wearing only his white undershirt, which was wet from what she understood, as his dark curls clung to his forehead.

They both spoke at the same time.

“Mr Holmes!” she said, her smile uneasy. “We, would not, umm, have come here if we-,”

“Miss Hooper – you’re touring the county- I-,”

They caught their breath, each of them struggling, on either end.

“Is your family well?” he enquired.

She blinked in astonishment, “They are – all – of them fine.”

“Are they with you?”

“No, I am with my aunt and uncle.”

“Oh,” he said, hands clenched. “And – is your family well?”

“Yes,” she said, unable to help herself laughing. “Very well, and you are-,”

“Good – good-,” he paused, suddenly bowing. “Miss Hopper.”

“Mr Holmes.”

And then he was gone, and she was mortified.

When her aunt and uncle had finally reached her, each of them with their own opinions on the appearance of Mr Holmes, she was bent upon departing, but when they were on the verge of doing so, Mr Holmes appeared – more – ‘gentlemanly attired’. She was astonished upon introducing him to her aunt and uncle, that he was different. 

Molly had thought he would return to that grim brooding figure, of what he was famed for in her county, but his almost cheerful demeanour startled her, his attentiveness more so. He went as far as telling her uncle that he was welcome to fish in his lakes, and she was bewildered, and so was her aunt. Molly felt her aunt was presuming something, or the other, and when her aunt would rather walk with her husband, Molly knew she was indeed presuming. 

She was left to her own devices with Mr Holmes, neither of them speaking much, though much could be said. “My sister returns tomorrow-,” he finally spoke, relieving her of the duty to do so. “And I would like to introduce her to you, if you would be willing.”

“I’d be delighted to-,” she said surprised at such an honour, and even more so of how she felt of it. If she had accepted his hand, she would have been familiar with his sister already.

“She is not used to people, not as forward as some, and at times she says things out of turn,” he spoke, earnestly.

“Not unfamiliar,” she said, almost biting her tongue.

Mr Holmes only glanced at her, a certain look in his eye, and once again, that smile she recognized.

“Perhaps not, but I would be glad if you were to make her acquaintance, and extend an invitation for dinner tomorrow night, if it doesn’t interrupt with your tour.”

“Not at all,” she said, her chest feeling tighter than it should. “I – I haven’t spoken to you since-,”

“April,” he said.

“Yes, and I, I apologize for the way-,”

“You need not apologize; the fault was all mine.”

She smiled, uncertain of what to say, or feel, of how she felt that she wished not to leave his side, yet, knew where she now hoped, there could be none.

“ – If I had behaved in a more gentlemanly manner, indeed,” he said.

“Oh, don’t remind me of what I said-,”

“It was true-,”

“Yes, but-,”

“ - - Would you accept me differently now,-,”