by Robin Helm
“I fear not. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is hindered by, shall we say, unfortunate relations.”
“There are others? The poor girl!”
Darcy looked an answer, but said nothing more. Indeed, there was no point in enlightening his cousin. Elizabeth’s mother and younger sisters were not only noisy, but obnoxiously ill-mannered. At Bingley’s ball, Mrs. Bennet had fairly crowed with glee, boasting to the crowded supper room of her eldest daughter’s triumph in ensnaring Charles Bingley.
A bit too cocksure, Mrs. Bennet!
Darcy had rescued his friend from this matrimonial trap; he must now trust time and distance to heal Bingley’s bruised heart.
And yet how could he have foreseen that he himself would encounter Mrs. Bennet’s second daughter here in Hunsford? Elizabeth was just as beautiful as Jane and far more charming. Moreover, she was enchantingly fond of verbal sparring—and it was Darcy who was her chosen foil. He found such conversation intoxicating.
“Miss Bennet,” added Fitz, “is everything that is lovely.”
“Perhaps a bit too lovely.” Darcy reached for his wineglass. Like Fitz, he had hoped to see more of her. However, Lady Catherine’s reticence could be a blessing in disguise. It was painfully clear that his fascination for Elizabeth had not abated.
“Must be provoking for Aunt Catherine, for Anne does not show well in her presence.” Fitz checked the time and pushed Darcy’s watch back across the table. “If you would get on with it and propose to Anne, old fellow,” he teased, “Miss Bennet might be invited again next year.”
Darcy gave his cousin a look. Fitz would speak of such things, and in Aunt Catherine’s own home, too! Decidedly he had had too much wine. Darcy said mildly, “It’ll be a cold day in, er, Hades before I do.”
Fitz grinned. “Don’t prettify your speech on my account.”
“Propose to Anne yourself.”
“I thank you, but no. Even if I did wish to marry her, which I do not, I’d be a madman to take on a mama-in-law who will share my house. There would be no escape, not with London so near. Can you imagine Lady Catherine on the town, with all our friends knowing that we are related?”
Darcy could imagine this all too well.
“As the years pass,” Fitz went on, “she becomes more outspoken and eccentric. This year is no better; she seems continually on edge. I think she’s becoming senile.”
Senile was not how Darcy would describe his aunt’s fondness for ordering people about. But Fitz was right; Lady Catherine was behaving oddly. “This new obsession with sketching is puzzling,” he said. “I wonder what is in her mind.”
Fitz lowered his glass. “Sketching? Never tell me our aunt has ambitions to become an artist.”
“How else can we explain it? I’ve seen her in the gardens with a sketch-book, and once I even found her in the stables. She told me that she has taken up drawing and likes horses.”
“Likes horses? Since when?”
“Not very plausible, is it? For of all creatures, the horse must be the most difficult to draw. What I was able to see looked like a diagram of the stables.”
“Another renovation project? I thought that curst chimney-piece would be the end of it. Eight-hundred pounds, and for what? The blasted chimney still belches smoke when the wind is in the wrong quarter.”
“She has also been evasive about the post,” said Darcy. “She fairly pounces when it comes in. I’ve also noticed several letters delivered by express.”
“Now that I can explain!” cried Fitz. “She has an admirer—who is no doubt a fortune hunter! —and she does not wish us to know.”
“You cannot be serious. This is Aunt Catherine we’re talking about.”
Fitz spread his hands. “What other explanation is there?”
What other explanation indeed. “I did chance to see a letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury’s office.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a shout of laughter. “That explains all! Dear Auntie has requested a special licence, in order to marry her swain.” He paused. “Or should I say swine?”
Darcy was betrayed into a smile. “Whoever he is, she’ll soon make a cat’s paw of him.”
“If he exists,” said Fitz. “Which in all seriousness, I doubt. She’ll have a hard enough time finding a husband for Anne, let alone for herself.”
“Anne’s fortune is incentive enough. I do pity her, especially because—” The dining room door came open. Darcy stopped speaking.
A footman entered, and he came straight to Darcy. “Her ladyship’s compliments, sir, and she is wishful to know if you will be joining her in the drawing room presently.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam emptied his wineglass and set it on the table with a snap. “Presently, is it? We’ve received our marching orders.”
Darcy glanced at his cousin’s grinning face. A cup of strong coffee would serve him well. He turned to the footman. “Thank you. We shall be in directly.”
This evening promised to be as dull as all the others.
oOo
Darcy did not see Elizabeth Bennet until Sunday at church, where he had the doubtful felicity of hearing his aunt’s off-hand invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Collins. Could Lady Catherine do no better than to ask them to after-dinner tea? A paltry thing! It would serve her right if Collins declined.
But of course, the man did nothing of the sort. Thus, Darcy was again confronted with Elizabeth’s enchanting company, this time in his aunt’s drawing room.
Her presence made a world of difference. Even surrounded by the most wearisome people in Christendom, Elizabeth’s congeniality shone. The others had little conversation, save for Mr. Collins who, like a yapping lapdog, echoed everything Lady Catherine said. But Elizabeth answered Lady Catherine’s enquiries with gentle assurance. Darcy’s heart warmed to see it.
“There are few people,” his aunt was now saying, “who have more insight than I when it comes to household economy. Take the matter of carpet runners. They are expensive to replace and what is worse, they become worn only in the middle. The sides are perfectly fine. And yet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, with a little deliberate forethought, this problem is easily solved.”
“Is it, ma’am?” said Elizabeth politely.
Lady Catherine set her teacup aside. “If every member of your family would simply walk with the feet spread just a little farther apart, the carpet would wear evenly. It would last for many more years.”
Did his aunt honestly suggest this? Elizabeth’s face reflected her inner struggle. Darcy understood it. One should never laugh at Lady Catherine.
“Do you mean, waddle?” cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. “You cannot be serious.”
“But I am. I have instructed every member of my staff to walk in just this way.”
“With the hind end swaying to and fro?” Fitz got up and demonstrated. “That’s rather indecent,” he added, grinning.
Elizabeth dissolved into laughter. They all did, except for Lady Catherine—and Mr. Collins.
“It is a very good idea,” she insisted.
“I quite agree, your ladyship,” said Mr. Collins.
“Good for whom?” quipped Fitz. “Inmates of Bedlam?” More laughter.
“I can see it now, in all our embassies. Za-za, za-za! In the name of carpet conservation!”
“Drink your tea, Hudson, and be quiet!”
Her use of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s given name brought a scowl and put an end to his jests, which was exactly what Lady Catherine had intended. Nevertheless, Fitz and Elizabeth were soon conversing with the ease of old friends.
Darcy listened intently, while struggling to find something intelligent to say. Speaking with a beautiful woman, he now realised, was not easy. Never before had he needed to make an effort. Women were always so eager to converse with him.
This was no doubt due to the drawing power of his fortune.
At length Darcy decided that it was safer to listen. Observation was more in his line, and there was much to be learned about a person through
mindful observation.
Here was the crux of the matter: he had not been in Elizabeth’s company long enough to detect her faults. Once he discovered these, her bewitching spell of attraction would be broken.
oOo
Some days later Darcy put his plan into action and began calling at the Hunsford parsonage. Sometimes Fitz accompanied him; at other times he went alone. Because his objective was to critique, not beguile, he made no extraordinary effort to converse. By chance he discovered that Elizabeth enjoyed walking each morning in the park, as was her habit at home. Darcy began to do likewise. Sometimes he encountered her while on foot, sometimes he rode on horseback. At these times, he allowed himself the pleasure of dismounting to walk alongside her.
Not that they conversed. She was often silent; he tossed out whatever topic occurred to him: something about the weather, or the way the trees were clad in the new green of spring, or the expectation of the roses being in bud.
Brilliant conversational gambit.
And yet, nothing off-putting in Elizabeth’s character came to light. It became a genuine pleasure to share a companionable silence. Unlike Bingley’s ambitious sister, Elizabeth Bennet did not feel the need to fill every moment with talk.
Darcy also observed her in company, and his admiration grew. Even Collins’s bumbling witticisms did not provoke her. Darcy had expected Elizabeth to exchange knowing glances with Collins’s wife, silently mocking him. This she did not do. Nor did she attempt to be coy with waspish sarcasm. She was patient with Maria Lucas, who was young and painfully shy, and she was kind to sickly Anne. Lady Catherine could be remarkably ill-mannered; several times Darcy had been put to the blush by her questions. But Elizabeth either kept silent or replied with tact and grace.
She was not cowed by Lady Catherine, nor did she seek her approval.
A rarity indeed.
This was the sort of women who would be the perfect mistress of Pemberley.
The shock of this thought struck Darcy like a thunderbolt. Could he be in love with her?
Nonsense! The idea was as ridiculous as it was impossible! Ludicrous, even. And yet—
Hating himself, Darcy stole another look at her. She was smiling. Not at him, but at something Fitz had said. She was lovely, absolutely lovely.
He drew a long breath as he came to terms with this staggering thought.
Had he fallen in love?
Preposterous! He was not in love!
Was he?
And with whom, that was the richest part. A country gentleman’s daughter! A young woman with nothing of substance to recommend her! Her fortune was nonexistent; her family connections, contemptible.
How could he possibly be in love with her?
And was this not a wonder! He had never thought to be in love—with anyone.
The next day Fitz took him to task. “You shouldn’t gaze at Miss Bennet in that soulful way,” he said. “Gad, man, what is wrong with you?”
He had lost his heart, that was what. How did one recover from such a blow?
Did Elizabeth return his regard? At times, Darcy had seen a sparkle of warmth in her intelligent eyes. If she knew what was in his heart, surely her admiration would grow. After all, he was Darcy of Pemberley.
This statement was the height of conceit, but it was also the absolute truth. For too long Darcy had been touted as the prize of the marriage mart to think otherwise.
Would she appreciate the enormity of his attraction? That he wished to marry her in spite of her family connections and lack of fortune? That he loved her simply for herself?
He knew he must speak soon, for his time at Rosings was drawing to a close. He must watch for an opportunity. During one of their morning strolls? Surely not. One did not come alongside a woman in the grove and pounce with a proposal.
Not during one of her visits to Rosings Park, for there would be no chance to speak to her alone. A call at the parsonage would be no better.
Perhaps he should instead write a letter; he wrote rather well. But this idea he rejected at once. A letter would be seen as the height of cowardice!
Here was the truth, in all its unvarnished glory. He was a coward.
Then came a day when Mr. and Mrs. Collins came to Rosings for tea, but Elizabeth was not with them. She had remained behind at the parsonage with a headache.
Darcy’s head came up. This was hardly the best of circumstances, but what choice did he have? He must seize the chance. At once he excused himself and left the drawing room.
Elizabeth’s surprise at seeing him was unfeigned, and no wonder. No gentleman of proper feeling would call just now, but the urgency of Darcy’s business pushed him on. If not today, there would be no opportunity to speak.
And yet he said nothing. She sat in a chair, gazing at him with polite interest, no doubt wishing him elsewhere.
Darcy heaved out of the chair and began to pace the room. This was it, now or never.
He halted and turned to face her. “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
CHAPTER 4
Mr. Darcy continued to talk. Words tumbled out, more than Elizabeth had heard him speak at any one time. She listened in growing astonishment.
He loved her? Why? She had never given him the least encouragement!
No, it was impossible. Mr. Darcy must be mistaken. She had piqued his interest, perhaps, but he could not love her, not truly.
And yet he described how he’d fought against this love for months. Incredible! And there was more. He must detail the obstacles he’d had to overcome, including the inferiority of her family, whose condition in life was so decidedly beneath his own.
Any compassion Elizabeth might have felt melted into anger. Mr. Darcy concluded by describing the strength of his attachment, a love that he had found impossible to conquer.
And then he waited, his dark eyes gazing into hers. Clearly, he expected a favorable answer.
As if she would accept a man who had parted Jane from her beloved Mr. Bingley! As if she would entrust her future to a man who had so cruelly wronged a childhood friend, as Mr. Darcy had wronged her new friend, Mr. Wickham!
There Mr. Darcy stood, leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on her face. He spoke of feeling anxious, but it was obvious that he felt nothing of the sort. He assumed she would gladly become his wife.
It was all pride, insufferable pride! As if wealth and social position were enough to secure her heart! Mr. Collins had had the same expectation when he proposed. Being married to a braggart and a fool was no better than being married to a cold and heartless man.
His arrogance, his conceit, and his selfish disdain for the feelings of others made Mr. Darcy a great deal worse than Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth found her voice. “In cases such as this, I believe gratitude is the acceptable response, if I could feel gratitude. But I do not. I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly.”
Surprise flickered in Mr. Darcy’s eyes, and Elizabeth rejoiced to see it. She had dealt his pride a blow. He deserved it.
“I am sorry to give you pain,” she added. “It has been most unconsciously done, and I hope it shall be of short duration.”
It took a full minute for Mr. Darcy to compose himself, and when he spoke it was with dreadful calm. “And this is the reply I am to have the honour of expecting?”
“Could there be any other? I am left to wonder why, with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character?”
She saw him flinch. How long had it been since he heard the truth about himself?
“I have other provocations,” she said. “You know I have. Do you think any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister? I have every reason in
the world to think ill of you.”
There was more in this vein, much more. Mr. Darcy did not deny that he had parted Jane and Mr. Bingley, nor did he refute his contempt for Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth gave full rein to her temper and told him exactly what she thought of his arrogance and pride.
Once Mr. Darcy had taken his leave—with cold politeness—Elizabeth was left to face the misery and mortification that comes from speaking one’s mind. She dashed aside angry tears, and at last she dissolved into weeping.
That she should receive an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! That he should wish to marry her in spite of every objection! That he could be so arrogant as to assume that she would fall into his arms!
He knew better now, for she had held nothing back. And yet here Elizabeth’s conscience smote her. The provocation had been great, but this was no excuse for cruelty.
I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.
Oh, heavens, she had spoken this spiteful thought aloud! She had wounded him simply because she could. Not that there was much heart in him to wound, but it had been badly done.
Her wretched, wretched tongue! What was it about Mr. Darcy that brought out the worst in her? Elizabeth buried her head in her hands and surrendered to a fresh wave of tears.
All too soon the sound of Lady Catherine’s carriage announced the return of Mr. and Mrs. Collins. Elizabeth could not face Charlotte—or anyone! She hurried upstairs to the privacy of her bedchamber.
CHAPTER 5
Lady Catherine took her seat at the foot of the dining table as the members of her family filed in. No one said a thing. After signing for the first course to be served, she shook out her napkin. “I must say, it is rather a relief to have the evening to ourselves. Mr. Collins was unusually tiresome this afternoon.” She paused. “Do you not agree?”
No one answered, and this added to Lady Catherine’s irritation. She did her best to encourage conversation, and this was the thanks she received? “Do not all speak at once,” she added.
In silence the soup was brought in and served. “I was sorry to hear what Mr. Collins told us,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said at last. “About Miss Bennet feeling unwell and all.”
