Darcy and the Accomplished Woman

by Linda Phelps

Elizabeth teased me about my lack of openness with the Bingleys’ neighbours. I found that I was defending myself, stating that I was not gifted in casual chat. She and Fitzwilliam chastised me, both saying that it is indolence, not lack of ability that makes me seem so uncongenial.

  If anyone else had so criticized me, I would have felt annoyance and taken pains not to be in the same room with such a person again. However, when Elizabeth speaks, her words amuse me. That they are accurate, I have no doubt, but her subtlety makes me enjoy them and long to hear more. I am more aware than ever that my manner may suggest a sense of pride. It is natural that a woman such as Elizabeth Bennet might resent such a display. I would do well to temper that appearance, not only for Elizabeth’s sake, but for the sake of others.

  I am quite shamed by Aunt Catherine’s offer to Elizabeth to use the housekeeper’s room to practice piano whenever she wished. Why not the piano in the drawing room? Does Aunt wish to suggest that Elizabeth is not worthy of the better instrument?

  Aunt always has the finest wax candles. Elizabeth’s eyes look very beautiful in their light.

  Darcy’s Journal (Rosings)

  This morning I walked to the rectory to pay my respects. I was astonished to find that Elizabeth was the only one at home. We had the customary greetings, and then fell into minutes of quiet that I can only describe as awkward.

  She broke the silence by saying, “How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November.”

  This was not a subject I wished to discuss. Whatever caused her to mention it? Surely she can have no suspicions as to our true purpose. I stayed silent.

  “Mr. Bingley and his sisters were well, I hope, when you left London,” said she.

  “Perfectly so, I thank you,” said I. Then I had no further words. I regretted that I had not brought Fitzwilliam with me. He is useful when a silence becomes uncomfortable. However, had he come, he would have had the greater share of her interest. I should not like to have watched such a scene.

  Elizabeth asked me then if I thought Bingley would ever return to Netherfield. I replied that I doubted that he would.

  Again we were silent. I thought to look about the room in which we were sitting. “This seems a very comfortable house,” said I. Elizabeth agreed, and spoke some praise of Aunt Catherine and her generosity.

  “It must be very agreeable to Mrs. Collins to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends.”

  This aroused her. “It is fifty miles!” she cried.

  I smiled at her words. “But that is no distance when the roads are good.”

  “Yes,” she said, “but travel is expensive, no matter how good the roads. I do not think Mr. and Mrs. Collins have the means to return to Hertfordshire with any frequency.”

  I drew my chair up to her. “Your friend may feel she is far from home, but you cannot always have been at Longbourn.”

  She moved back in astonishment. Now that I consider it, it was a rather extraordinary remark, coming as it did without preamble.

  I had meant to compliment her. I was thinking that she was not the untraveled country girl that Mrs. Collins is, that she has a wit and understanding far beyond any she could have acquired at Hertfordshire. She is so unlike her family and neighbours that it is only natural that I indicate the admiration I have for her delightful worldliness. She could not have attained it at Longbourn. Her sense of style alone proves it

  Perhaps I hoped that she would share with me tales of her experiences in London—surely she too has been the guest of the aunt and uncle who live in Cheapside. She has traveled to other places too, Spain, perhaps, for she moves quite easily in unfamiliar surroundings such as those provided by Aunt Catherine.

  However, my remark seemed to have silenced her. Drawing my chair back, I moved the conversation by easy degrees to the beauties of the countryside, anticipated rather than seen, for we still await spring weather

  I cannot temper my appreciation of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She is very much at her ease in superior society, as I saw at Netherfield and now here at Rosings. Certainly not in terms of fortune, but in other ways she cannot be surpassed. It is her misfortune to have born into the family and society in which she presently lives.

  Still, I have been too open with my words. When she considers what I say, she may think that I am developing a feeling of attachment for her. It would not do to arouse unwarranted hopes in so fine a young lady. Henceforward I shall not behave in a familiar manner in her presence.

  For a few days Darcy kept his promise to himself. When he and Colonel Fitzwilliam called at the rectory, he let the conversation drift around and past him, staying so silent that his cousin felt free to charge him with it. If he glimpsed Elizabeth Bennet on any of the paths in Rosings Park, he immediately changed his direction to avoid meeting with her. One day, however, he was inattentive and found himself face to face with her as he turned from one path to another. She greeted him and immediately told him that this lane was a particular haunt of hers.

  When alone, Darcy examined her words. Was she suggesting that she would welcome him again at the same place? If so, it was a delicate way of indicating her desire to see more of him. He felt a sense of elation. Elizabeth Bennet was, of all the people at Hunsford and Rosings Park, the one whose company he most enjoyed.

  He considered the times he had seen her. She was a creature of regular habits, and any fine day she could be expected to take exercise an hour after breakfast. Thus with almost no difficulty Darcy managed to meet Elizabeth the next day. After a few formal words, he turned in the direction she had chosen and fell in with her.

  “So, Miss Elizabeth, do you enjoy solitary walks, or do you prefer to have someone accompany you?” said he.

  “Oh, Mr. Darcy, I can enjoy either solitude or companionship. These grounds are so lovely that I am pleased whether I have them to myself or share their beauty with a friend,” said Elizabeth.

  “That is fine”. They walked in silence for a moment. Then Darcy found himself saying, “Do you believe that Mr. and Mrs. Collins are happy in their union? If I understood the situation correctly they had not known each other long before they married.”

  “You are right,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Collins came to Longbourn as our guest in November, the week of the ball at Netherfield. They married the first of the year.”

  “That is not an inordinately short time of courtship,” said Darcy. “How pleased they must have been to have come to a meeting of the minds so quickly.”

  “In a sense it is a shorter time than it seems, for Mr. Collins was very conscientious about returning each week to Hunsford to perform his clerical duties. Also, he of course wanted assurances from Lady Catherine that she found Charlotte, by description, to be an acceptable addition to the society at Rosings.”

  “My aunt seems entirely pleased with Mrs. Collins,” said Darcy. “I hope the welcome she received at her hands did much to diminish the natural gloom she felt on leaving her family and friends.”

  “That is the fate of most women,” agreed Elizabeth, “but I believe for Charlotte the pleasure she feels at being mistress of her own home keeps her spirits high.”

  “She will not be the last woman to discover that her life improves when she takes a husband,” said Darcy.

  “No, I expect not.”

  They turned onto another path. “So when you next come to Kent, I expect you will stay at Rosings itself rather than at the rectory. I believe you have seen only a small part of its rooms. There is much to admire,” said Darcy. Immediately he regretted his words. Elizabeth stared at him. She seemed puzzled by his remark, but was too well bred to demand a clarification.

  “Yes,” said she, “I doubt not that there are such rooms. The house is very large.”

  “Larger than many,” said Darcy.

  After a moment Elizabeth said, “And your sister? Does she come here often to see her relations?”

  “Almost never,” said Darcy, glad to have a new topic for conversation.
“She could not have the proper masters here. Nor are she and my cousin Anne on intimate terms.”

  “Still, if your sister is in the least delicate, I would think the country air would do her good. London can be rather stifling during the winter.”

  “I have left her in the care of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst,” said Darcy. “I trust them implicitly to see to her health and happiness.”

  “You must miss her company,” said Elizabeth. “When do you expect to return to town?”

  Darcy cleared his throat. “I have not yet made that decision. As you can see, the spring arrives around us. It is hard to leave just when the year becomes warm again. Then there are people here I have seen on an almost daily basis. I will miss their companionship.”

  “I too,” said Elizabeth. “I have taken great pleasure in knowing Charlotte in her new home, and your Aunt, of course. Yet I long to see my sister Jane and the rest of my family. Longbourn is also lovely this time of year.”

  “We both have the good fortune to have loving sisters,” said Darcy. “We have that in common.”

  Miss Bingley’s Journal (London)

  I begin to wonder about Darcy. I am aware that he spends every Easter with his aunt, Lady Catherine deBourgh. I believe she was sister to his mother. Charles relates that he can be expected to stay at Rosings for a fortnight, or a bit longer, but he has already been away from London for three weeks. Can he possibly be thinking of his cousin, Lady Anne? Two years ago my brother told us that Lady Catherine very much wants Darcy to marry his cousin. Charles felt that there was no possibility that Darcy would make such a match. Other than the joining of the two estates, he would have nothing to gain.

  I have often heard that Lady Anne is of a delicate and sickly constitution, which would not make her appealing to Darcy. Still I wonder at his absence. Is it possible that she has improved in health and beauty since he saw her a year ago? Some of these girls seem to become women almost overnight. In her case, there would be no shortage of money to provide her with the best clothes of the season.

  In some ways we were better off at Netherfield, where I could be in company with him every day. But he was right. Jane Bennet would have made an entirely unsuitable wife for Charles.

  Miss Darcy’s Journal (London)

  I do wish my brother would return. I am weary of staying with Mrs. Hurst and her sister. They think of nothing but rides in their elegant carriage and shopping for trinkets in elegant shops and paying calls on their numerous friends, all of whom, it goes without saying, are elegant. How they do not perish from boredom is beyond my comprehension.

  I have always an expression on my face, a slight smile as if I am delighted to be in their presence. Thus they are complacent in their belief that they are making me happy.

  I have written my brother, saying that I miss his presence. He returned a letter that is rather odd. He says he has lengthened his stay because he has found more congenial company than he usually finds at Rosings. He is well entertained there, as he has never been before. I am not certain what he means.

  When I related this bit of news to Miss Bingley, she could not regain her countenance for a full minute. Then she smiled at me and resumed gossiping about the people we were to call on later in the day. The daughter of that house was once detected in compromising isolation with her tutor. I hope she is as interesting as she has the reputation of being.

  “You are aware that in some quarters my brother is expected to marry Lady Anne,” said I. “Perhaps that is the cause for his staying at Rosings so long.”

  Was I wicked to say it? I will admit I quite enjoyed watching Caroline try to maintain an air of cool interest at my words.

  But my brother! I am aware that he is of an age and position which demands he find a wife, but is it possible he is considering marrying our cousin Anne? I well remember when she and I were younger. She spoke constantly of her ambition to marry Darcy. I pray that when he marries, he chooses someone who, unlike Anne, shares his interests and has the skills to create comfortable homes for him, wherever he chooses to be.

  I am also aware that Caroline Bingley would like very much to become Mrs. Darcy. I cannot recall all the compliments to him she demands I put in my letters to him.

  Assuming Lady Anne is not in truth a candidate for his hand, Caroline Bingley is the logical choice. Still, I do wish he would find someone else, someone different from either Lady Anne or Miss Bingley, someone who could become the sister I have hoped for.

  William Longstreet continued to see Caroline Bingley both at her house and at the houses of others on whom they called. He was never without a story of some foible on the part of mutual friends, for whose reputations he had no concern whatever. She was surprised to realize that she agreed somewhat with his refusal to take a serious view of their society. “Pray, Mr. Longstreet, am I exempt from this charge of shallowness?”

  “I regret to say that you are not,” said he. “It is a quality you have acquired since we were childhood friends.” His manner was so mild that she found it difficult to take offense.

  “And you?” asked Caroline. “I do not recall this admiration for gossip when we were young.”

  “Once I could no longer interest you in cricket and steeplechase races, I had need to discover something new, else you would have become as a stranger to me. And that I could not have borne.”

  “So you collect these tales to please me?” said Caroline.

  He met her eyes. “I do,” he said, without a hint of irony.

  “Mr. Longstreet grows on one,” said Louisa. “Only a few months ago he seemed like a child, a rather awkward one at that. It was as if he had not yet outgrown the playful friendship you had shared with him for so many years. However, I think he changed once his brother married Anne Constable. Now he begins to remind me of his George. Both have that same easiness when in company.”

  “Nonsense!” cried Caroline. “He is nothing like his brother.”

  “Perhaps,” said Louisa, “but he is a Longstreet, and you would go far to find another man who admires you as he does.”

  “Admires me!” cried Caroline. “He praises me in order to mock me.”

  “Still, he does so in fun, does he not? And he does admire you.”

  “Admiration is not everything,” said Caroline.

  “No, but it can be the start of everything,” said Louisa.

  It was fortunate that they next came across William Longstreet in his brother’s house, where both he and the sisters were guests for the evening. Cards and music were the planned entertainments. “We must behave with great circumspection,” whispered William as he greeted her. “All eyes are upon us.”

  “They would do well to put their eyes elsewhere,” said Caroline sharply. “If you make me a target of their gossip, I will never forgive you.”

  “Never is a very long time,” said he, and offering her his arm, he escorted her to the dining room.

  Mr. Darcy was present, offering his comments to the ladies who sat on either side of him. Caroline watched them enviously.

  “You would do well to stop staring at Darcy,” said William quietly. “If he is thinking of you, which is merely a possibility, he should see that you are already engaged in amusing talk with me and the gentleman to your left.”

  “Now you are speaking nonsense,” said Caroline, but she laughed as if what he said entertained her immensely.

  After dinner Caroline partnered William at the table of whist players, continuing to pretend that there was no other person she wished to sit across from her. He played the game with mock solemnity, praising his enemies extravagantly when they were victorious, bemoaning his own defeats with an air of despair. Any success he had he put to luck, while when Caroline came ahead, he bowed to her in droll reverence.

  Once Georgiana had entertained the guests by performing a complex song on the piano, William insisted that Caroline do the same. He chose a song for her, currently la mode, to which he sang with an exaggerated air of one performing f
or her alone. Had his voice been less pleasing, his listeners might have turned away, but he sang words of love with such embellishment that those watching stopped their conversations to watch him and smile. He acted the part of a man out of his mind with love, gazing at Caroline with such adoration that she found herself laughing along with the other guests.

  “Mr. Longstreet’s voice is very pleasant, is it not?” whispered Louisa.

  “It is well enough, but he does not have a serious air when he sings,” said Caroline.

  “Nor does he need one,” said Louisa.

  When coffee was served, William joined Caroline. “Now you must make me current with the news of our friends. Is it true that Amelia Crawford is engaged to a naval officer?”

  “I have not heard of that,” said Caroline, captured despite herself by this hint of approaching matrimony. “Who told it to you?”

  “That, fairest lady,” said William “must remain my secret.”

  “If it is true,” said Caroline, “I hope she had the sense to choose one who has been successful. Unless an officer has been in at the capture of French ships, he will not have much to offer.”

  “In time we will doubtless know all,” said William, “but is so pleasant to have the means to be the first to tell the tale to our friends.”

  “That is your privilege,” said Caroline.

  “No, Miss Bingley,” said William. “I have brought this item to you as a gift, an emblem of my admiration for you. I know you will tell the story better than I ever could. You have a talent for adornment that is not limited to your attire.”

  Caroline was pleased. “You may bring any other such stories to me, if you do not mean to tell them yourself.”

  “Your friends will be seeking you out when it becomes known that you are the one who knows everyone’s secrets,” promised William. His hand moved toward hers. “I do know a few more things.”

  For the first time that night Caroline found herself smiling openly at him. “Oh, Mr. Longstreet,” said she. “Do tell me what you know.”

  “Perhaps I will have another tale when I see you next, so you must await my call with anticipation, “said William. “But tell me what you have been doing since I last had the honour of being in your presence.”