by P. O. Dixon
I am confident he would not have spoken so harshly if he had even the vaguest hint that his words would be so hurtful if overheard. While Mr. Darcy is a proud man, I never supposed he was mean-spirited.
Charlotte recalled her exact words to her friend when Mr. Darcy called on the parsonage house not very long ago: “I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr. Darcy would never have come so soon to wait upon me.”
While Elizabeth was not eager to acknowledge, and much less appreciate, such a compliment, Charlotte was grateful enough for herself and for her friend and what it might mean for the latter’s prospects for felicity.
Finally, Mr. Darcy’s telling reaction and prompt departure from Rosings yesterday upon learning of Eliza’s ill health did not escape my notice. Surely others in our party noticed it too.
Charlotte congratulated herself for being right the entire time. With such a confirmation as this, her friend could not possibly deny it.
“I know precisely how to act,” Charlotte said softly. With that in mind, her spirits rose with every step she took.
What a lucky woman my friend is to have garnered the ardent affections of a man like Mr. Darcy. Surely Mrs. Bennet will be beside herself with joy, as will all the Bennets no doubt. Perchance, the matriarch of Longbourn will be thanking me for marrying Mr. Collins as opposed to loathing my very existence. And that will be something indeed.
In inviting my friend to visit me this spring, did I not provide the means of uniting her with Mr. Darcy?
Elizabeth was standing in front of the fireplace, staring intently into the flames, when Charlotte entered the parlor. Even the soft creak of the door opening and closing as well as Charlotte’s tenuous footsteps to where her friend stood went unheard. Charlotte cleared her throat, startling Elizabeth. Her arms wrapped around herself, Elizabeth turned.
“I found this on my way home,” said Charlotte, handing over the folded letter.
Elizabeth felt a rush of relief spread all over her body. “I have been looking everywhere for this,” she cried, accepting the proffered missive.
Elizabeth fancied herself a somewhat private person. As close as she was to her elder sister, Jane, she had not intended to tell her about Mr. Darcy’s proposal. She certainly did not mean to confide her secret to Charlotte, despite the lifelong intimacy between the two of them. The thought that her friend was now thoroughly acquainted with the letter’s contents gave her pause.
“What I meant to say is thank you. I should hate to think what might have happened had this missive fallen into the wrong hands.”
Charlotte said, “No doubt. And let me assure you that I did not read any more than was necessary to discover the identity of the writer, as well as the intended recipient, but I hope I do not assume too much in asking you to allow me to be the first to wish you joy.”
Elizabeth’s relief in knowing she was not obliged to divulge any more than was necessary to satisfy her friend’s curiosity was palpable. But, dispelling Charlotte’s mistaken impression about an alliance with Mr. Darcy was essential.
“Oh, Charlotte,” she began, “things are not at all as they appear. Trust me when I say I am the last person in the world to whom you ought to wish joy. On the contrary, you might very well subject me to a severe rebuke.”
“What do you mean? You will recall my telling you, upon his arrival in Kent, that Mr. Darcy was in your power. How can I help but think this letter is a confirmation of my sentiments?”
Of course Charlotte would think as she does. How many times has she tried to persuade me that Mr. Darcy held me in esteem—that he admired me?
His eloquently chosen words uttered the night before in that very room echoed in her mind: “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
If only his avowal had not been preceded by his telling me how he had struggled in vain and of his feelings which he could no longer repress.
Elizabeth turned back to the fireplace, tossed the letter into the burning flames, and watched as Mr. Darcy’s words burned into charred nothingness. Gone forever was the physical evidence of their transgressions: his in having written the letter and hers in having accepted it. Having committed its contents to memory, Elizabeth only wished it were so simple to erase the entire ordeal from her mind. By now, she blamed herself just as much, if not more, than she blamed Mr. Darcy for the disastrous evening.
“What are you doing?” Charlotte asked, her expression clouded with confusion.
“Charlotte, it is just as well that you did not read the letter, for the words contained therein might have been the means of ruining your good opinion of me, perhaps forever.”
“Eliza?”
Her voice pained, she cried, “I have been such an unmitigated fool.”
Charlotte reached out her hand to her friend. “You, a fool? Why on earth would you say such a thing?”
“What I am about to tell you is something I ought not to be discussing with anyone, but I fear it is far too much for me to keep to myself.”
Charlotte placed her hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “You know you can rely on my discretion.”
“Indeed, you have always kept my confidences in the past, but this is not so much my secret—not entirely. It has to do with a young lady whose acquaintance neither of us has had the privilege of making and — and Mr. Wickham.” She shrugged a little. “Suffice it to say, he is not the man whom I long believed him to be. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand… oh, dearest Charlotte, I fear I have misjudged him severely.”
“You know I have long suspected that he held you in the highest esteem.”
“Indeed, and I even recall how you cautioned me not to let my good opinion of Mr. Wickham cloud my opinion of Mr. Darcy—stating that the latter was ten times the worth of the former.”
“It is true but doing so does not make you a fool. Is there something else you wish to share about your being in possession of a letter from Mr. Darcy?”
“Just as I was mistaken in my judgment of Mr. Darcy’s character, I was also mistaken in my interpretation of his feelings for me. I always thought he held me in so little esteem as I held him — despite your arguments to the contrary.”
“What are you saying?”
“Mr. Darcy told me that he loves me — most ardently. Oh, Charlotte he offered me his hand in marriage.”
A broad smile threatened to overtake Charlotte’s face.
Elizabeth hastened to add, “However, I refused his offer and in no uncertain terms. I went so far as to tell him that he is the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
“But why would you do such a thing?” Charlotte asked, incredulity ringing in her voice.
“You know very well that I could never marry a man whom I did not admire and respect—dare I say love, and at the time of Mr. Darcy’s proposal, I was quite persuaded that I loathed him.”
The irony of her confession to her friend was not lost on Elizabeth, having refused her cousin Mr. Collins’s hand in marriage a few months earlier—the same man who went on to win Charlotte’s hand.
“That is a powerful sentiment indeed. I always knew Mr. Darcy was not your favorite person in the world, but I always attributed your feelings to the rude remark he made at the beginning of your acquaintance that you were not handsome enough to tempt him—even though all evidence spoke to the contrary.”
“That was indeed the basis for my initial ill feelings toward him, coupled with Mr. Wickham’s accusations. But that was nothing in comparison to what I later learned about the gentleman from none other than his own relation.”
“Are you referring to Lady Catherine? If you do not mind my asking, what did she say?”
“I am afraid it was not Lady Catherine who further poisoned my mind against Mr. Darcy. No—it was his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“What could have been his purpose? Surely he could see how much Mr. Darcy admired you whenever the three of you were in company.”
“You must n
ot blame the colonel for failing to discern his cousin’s sentiments. Even I was caught utterly unaware by his ardent avowal of love, and I was the recipient. Saying that, the colonel was attempting to portray his cousin in an admirable light by boasting of what a loyal friend he is—especially toward Mr. Bingley.”
“Mr. Bingley?”
“Indeed. Oh, Charlotte, I always had a vague suspicion that Mr. Darcy had a hand in separating his friend and my sister Jane from each other. The colonel’s account of Mr. Darcy’s behavior confirmed it. So, you see I had no choice but to refuse Mr. Darcy’s offer of marriage. How could I possibly be expected to accept the man who had been the means of causing my sister such pain and subjecting her to derision of the cruelest kind?”
Elizabeth folded one arm over the other. “At least that was my reasoning at the time. Now, I hardly know what to think or how to feel.”
“I take it that Mr. Darcy’s letter has something to do with your changed sentiments.”
“Indeed, it has everything to do with it.”
“How so?”
She shrugged a little. “Merely by explaining his motives which were indeed warranted for someone who does not know Jane so well as I do and in a manner that even I am hard-pressed to deny. I truly do believe that he was not behaving out of malice but rather in service to his friend.”
In truth, Elizabeth had behaved similarly towards Charlotte, in a manner of speaking. Had it been in her power, she would have prevented her intimate friend from marrying that odious Mr. Collins, owing to the man’s foolish propensities. Only Charlotte was not so malleable as Bingley.
I might have been just as guilty as Mr. Darcy, and yet I held him in contempt. What manner of person does that make me?
Chapter 3
Her Friend’s Predicament
After hearing her friend Elizabeth account for the reason behind Mr. Darcy’s letter, Charlotte could not possibly sit by idly and do nothing, especially if it were in her power to bring about a more favorable resolution of her friend’s predicament.
I know my friend too well to suspect that she will do anything to alter her current course. Eliza has always been rather obstinate and headstrong, and I suspect Mr. Darcy can be equally so. Thus, Charlotte quickly resolved to take matters into her own hands.
I only hope I am not too late.
With Mr. Darcy and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam having delayed their departure from Kent several times already, she now surmised the reason had to do with the former’s desire to spend more time in the same part of the country as her friend.
With no such reason to remain, the gentleman might very well leave Kent at any moment.
What a stroke of luck it was for Charlotte when Mr. Darcy and the colonel called on the parsonage the very next day. Learning that they did indeed plan to leave, and that they were merely calling to say goodbye, she decided to put her scheme of throwing Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy in each other’s path into motion before it was too late.
She usually did not rely upon her husband’s company, but that particular morning his lingering presence was absolutely necessary. Mr. William Collins was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty, whose air was grave and stately and his manners very formal. Who better than the pretentious gentleman to wax ad nauseam poetically without saying hardly anything at all?
The mantel clock ticked, Mr. Collins talked, and, nodding their heads at all the right times, the others bided their time.
Observing Mr. Darcy’s manner, Charlotte was certain he entertained the hope of seeing Elizabeth that morning. Every sound outside the parlor door was met with a look of disappointment on the gentleman’s face upon discovering that it was not her friend joining their party.
The colonel was eager to see Elizabeth as well, albeit for different reasons. Charlotte could see that he enjoyed being in Elizabeth’s company, and for a time she supposed her friend might be in some danger from the highly agreeable man. He had a way of making everyone around him feel as though he and they were acquaintances of long duration. A stranger might find it hard to believe the blood running through his veins was the same as the noble blood which ran through Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s.
For Mr. Collins’s part, he was exceedingly grateful for the opportunity to pay those parting civilities which he considered indispensably necessary to his noble patroness’s two favorite nephews.
“I know not,” said he to his esteemed guests, “whether Mrs. Collins has yet expressed her appreciation for your kindness in visiting us so regularly as both of you did. Indeed, the favor of your company has been much felt, I assure you. I am certain my fair cousin Miss Elizabeth would express a similar sentiment if she were here.” Looking to his wife for confirmation, he said, “Do you not agree, Mrs. Collins?”
Her mind outside those walls in contemplation of where her friend might be, she had not heard a word her husband said. She rarely listened to his ramblings which so often were built on mountains of ridiculousness. Still, she was not insensitive to the benefit of her husband’s particular attributes at such a time as this. The longer he delayed the guests’ leave-taking, the better the chances that Elizabeth would return and find them sitting there—waiting for her.
“Pardon me, Mr. Collins?”
“I was just telling Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam that my dear cousin Miss Elizabeth would be just as pleased with the opportunity to pay parting civilities to the two of them as both you and I are, with all the certainty that you would agree.”
Charlotte nodded. “I do agree indeed.”
Pleased with his wife’s assertion, Mr. Collins said, “I know how little there is to tempt anyone to our humble abode. Our plain manner of living, our small rooms, and few domestics, and the little we see of the world must make Hunsford extremely dull to gentlemen of sense and education and knowledge of the world such as yourselves. I am certain you both have traveled far and wide and have seen places that my wife and I can only dream about. Although, I suppose our station in life will not always be so ordinary and mundane as it is.”
Mr. Darcy tugged at his collar with this pronouncement which Collins likely read as ungratefulness on his own part.
Not insensitive to Mr. Darcy as well as the colonel’s admiration for their aunt, Mr. Collins cried, “That is not to say that I do not appreciate Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s unparallel benevolence in having granted me the living here in Hunsford and done all she can to improve on the parsonage house herself… doing an extraordinary job of it, if I might say so myself, but as you may or may not know, I am the heir to Longbourn estate in Hertfordshire, which means I, too, shall be able to boast of being among the landed gentry.”
Charlotte felt it absolutely necessary to speak up before her husband began pontificating on Longbourn’s current master’s future demise. “Mr. Collins, I am rather certain our guests are aware that you in no way intended to minimize Lady Catherine’s benevolence on our behalf.”
Having sat patiently in the same attitude since arriving, the colonel stood. “If you all would pardon me, I think I should like to walk out to look for Miss Elizabeth in the park.”
Charlotte’s pulse quickened. It was now or never if her scheme stood a chance of success.
“My dear, Mr. Collins,” she said. “Did you not say that you wanted to show the colonel the book you came across yesterday? I posit that now is a perfect time. Who is to say when such an opportunity might present itself again?”
She looked at Mr. Darcy. “Sir, may I prevail on you to go in search of my dear friend in the colonel’s stead. I know with certainty that she would be sorry to have missed seeing you and your cousin this morning.”
If Mr. Darcy suspected that Mrs. Collins was insinuating herself into the role of matchmaker, he gave no clue of his suspicions. Each of the men agreed to the arrangement in their turns, and moments later, Charlotte was all alone in the parlor congratulating herself on carrying out her scheme with so little trouble to herself. She whispered a little prayer that any
stubbornness her friend might be clinging to would be overruled by her sensibilities and all would unfold just as she envisioned everything ought to turn out.
My friend deserves such a man as Mr. Darcy.
Chapter 4
Bounds of Decorum
Darcy did not walk very far before seeing Elizabeth in the lane. Having come across her in that exact spot just the day before struck him as ironic. It haunted him still the things he did and did not convey in the letter he handed to her and not knowing how any of it had affected her. He also had a sense that she might have confided in her friend Mrs. Collins some of the things he had said.
None of that matters now.
He approached her directly and bowed slightly. “Pardon me, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth replied, curtsying.
“My cousin and I called at the parsonage with the intention of saying goodbye before taking our leave of Kent.”
“You are leaving today?” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy detected a hint of remorse in her voice, which encouraged a bit of hope deep inside him that perhaps his letter had melted some of the resentment that was so evident in her the day before. He nodded. “The colonel insisted we pay the Collinses the courtesy and despite all that has unfolded between us, I would have been wholly remiss had I failed to bid you a proper goodbye.”
“Sir, truth be told, I am glad you did not leave without saying goodbye. You see, I feel I owe you an apology, and I should hate to be so indebted for the rest of my days. Your letter—”
“I know giving it to you violated the bounds of decorum. However, I desperately wanted to explain things from my vantage point. I could think of no other way after the manner of our parting the evening before.”
