‘What is it you mean?’ Elizabeth asked, slowing down for her heart had begun to race despite their leisurely pace.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stopped and looked gravely at her. ‘It is a circumstance my cousin would not wish to be widely known. A delicate matter. If the lady’s family were to hear…’
‘Of course, Sir,’ Elizabeth said, somehow maintaining her composure. ‘I shall not mention it to a soul.’
The colonel was silent for a few moments, as if weighing up whether to remain discreet or to share such an interesting tale. Finally, he spoke. ‘Indeed. It was merely that Darcy had intervened on his friend’s behalf. The young man had embroiled himself in a situation which might have seen him fated to a most imprudent marriage. I suspect it was this and not business that called him away. It is fortunate that word seems to have gotten around that it was the latter.’
‘Yes,’ Lizzy said faintly. ‘Of course. And what was the reason for his interference?’
‘I am to understand it was an objection to the lady.’
Elizabeth walked on, unable to summon the will to speak. Jane loomed large in her mind. How was it possible that such a sweet-natured girl might be found so objectionable? It seemed so alien to the Darcy she had latterly seen in Kent. But then, wasn’t it easier to be civil and kind to a woman who was betrothed to a stranger than to a close friend?
Lizzy walked on in silence, no longer trusting herself to speak. After a time, she realised with a start that her alliance with Mr. Collins was even more crucial now than ever before, since there was now no question of Mr. Bingley ever returning to Netherfield.
‘I must take my leave, colonel,’ she said suddenly. ‘Mr. Collins will be expecting me.’
19
Her husband-to-be looked far from impressed when Lizzy walked through the door, ankles muddy from the grass.
‘Where on earth have you been?’ he demanded.
Lizzy, with Jane still on her mind, promptly burst into tears. This provoked no attempt from Mr. Collins to attend to her or otherwise ease her ails.
‘If you must go out alone and it causes you to become ill, then I’m afraid I can not be prevailed upon for sympathy. It is entirely of your own doing.’
‘I am not ill,’ she said, recovering quickly and growing mortified at the thought that he believed himself the cause of her upset. ‘I apologise. I thought I saw Lady Catherine. You were occupied and Mrs. Philips was sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you.’
He stared at her, not speaking. Lizzy found herself picturing the alternative in her mind’s eye. Would being considered ruined by society really be so bad compared to a life with a man like this? She could countenance it, she knew. But the thought of Jane in poverty gave her pause. Poor, sweet Jane had had enough troubles without being cast out of her home and society.
I can weather this. I am strong. What of it if I must put my pride to one side and serve this man as his wife? I shall do so for the sake of my family, she thought.
She bowed her head. ‘I must go. Excuse me.’
Alone in her room, Lizzy allowed herself to finally succumb to her emotions. She wept into her pillow as she pictured the scene at Netherfield. Darcy, full of pride. His kind words at Kent meant so little when compared to his treachery in Hertfordshire. She imagined him speaking in whispers with Caroline Bingley, voicing their extreme concerns that Bingley was developing feelings for a thoroughly unsuitable woman. She remembered his disdain at the Meryton assembly; the way he had dismissed her out of hand and chosen not to lower himself by dancing with one of the women of Meryton.
It was Jane’s pain that gnawed at her most. Poor Jane, captivated so by Bingley; so cautiously optimistic that he might regard her in the same light.
Jane, she realised with a flash of insight, could never be objectionable. ‘It is our uncles,’ she muttered into her pillow. ‘My aunt and my mother.’ She fell silent as she reflected on their behaviour at the Netherfield ball; their indiscreet references to Jane and Mr. Bingley’s engagement before the question had even been uttered.
But no, she thought. It was not her mother’s lack of sense that had so outraged Mr. Darcy as the family’s lack of connections. ‘What a prideful man, to tear a rift in a union that might have resulted in such love and happiness.’
The thought made fresh tears flow down her cheeks. Lizzy wept for hours on end until she had no tears left and her temples ached from the exertion. When it came time to leave the parsonage for Rosings, she found she had not the energy to leave her room. It was decided that Mrs. Philips and Mr. Collins would attend without her, for the latter could not countenance refusing an offer from his patroness. He was not angry at her inability to attend, though he did appear to take some pleasure in reminding Lizzy that she would not have fallen ill were it not for her ill-advised solo jaunt into the park.
Previously, Lizzy might have informed him that illness struck regardless of whether the sufferer walked alone or in company, but by that time her spirits had faltered to such a low level that it was a struggle for her to wish them a pleasant evening.
20
Lizzy fell into a fitful sleep after her aunt and Mr. Collins had left. She was awoken quite suddenly by the sound of the doorbell. She rolled over in a trance, wondering who might have come calling. Mr. Collins didn’t have a wide circle of social acquaintances in the area, and it seemed much too late for a parishioner to call unless it was a matter of the utmost importance.
Resolving that she could do nothing in that situation anyway and that the servants would take care of the caller, she closed her eyes and urged sleep to wash over her again.
So she was astonished where there was a sharp rap on her door.
‘Yes?’ she called.
One of Collins’s servants opened the door. ‘Miss, Mr. Darcy is here to see you.’
Lizzy could barely think of a response. Why exactly had he come? Had something happened at Rosings? She calmed herself and informed the servant that she’d be along shortly. Then she climbed out of bed, still fully clothed, and smoothed down her dress. She splashed her face with water and quickly tidied her hair. This she did out of a sense of propriety rather than any consideration for Mr. Darcy, whom she now regarded as the chief creator of her sister’s sorrow as well as her own bleak circumstances.
‘Mr. Darcy,’ she said coldly, entering the room. ‘I pray there is nothing wrong at Rosings?’
‘No,’ he said hurriedly. ‘No, nothing.’
Elizabeth saw on the clock over the mantle that it was barely seven o’clock. ‘Didn’t you stay for dinner?’
He nodded curtly. ‘I left the moment it was finished. How do you feel?’
‘Fine thank you,’ Lizzy said with forced civility before inviting him to sit.
She had never seen a man fidget in such a way, certainly not a man as well-bred as Mr. Darcy. That thought amused her—there was nothing well-bred about his treatment of her dear sister. After several moments, the man seemed positively agitated. She was about to ask him if he had taken ill when he suddenly got to his feet and stood over her. Elizabeth watched him with mounting disbelief.
‘In vain I have 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.’
Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond but found she was stunned into silence. She listened in confusion as he spoke of his regard for her and the conflict he had faced because of her family circumstances and inferiority.
She wavered between sympathy for the rejection he was about to receive and indignation at the insensitivity of his words. Finally, it became clear to her that, despite his professions of anxiety, that he did not doubt her answer.
Her response, though thanking him for his sentiments, was abrupt and firmly in the negative.
Mr. Darcy’s complexion grew pale. He was sitting opposite her on the sofa, leaning forward as if afraid he might miss a single word. ‘You would marry this man without hesitation? I fought against
my better judgement, and still I could not resist offering my hand to a woman who is betrothed to another.’
‘I hear those words again, sir,’ she said with quiet anger. ‘“Fighting your judgement”. Why, pray tell, did you continue to fight if it were such an almighty struggle?’
‘I do not wish for you to marry that man. Any fool can see you are unhappy.’
Elizabeth coloured, embarrassed by the ease at which he had discerned her true feelings. ‘And I would be happy with you, sir, pray tell? My goodness, how could I be happy with a man who ruined forever the happiness of my own sister? I have thought and thought, attempting to justify such a nefarious course of action. I could not think of one reason to do as you have done except for pride. Do you deny it?’
‘I do not,’ he said, quite calmly. ‘I can not deny that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister.’
Elizabeth cried out in anger. ‘And yet you come here and ask for my hand! Not only that, but you speak of your conflict at the thought of my inferiority. Do you mock me, sir! I can think of no other reason for your unkind, un-gentlemanlike words.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? I spoke the truth, undisguised. What would you have me do? Miss Elizabeth, I implore you. Do not marry that man.’
‘I have no choice, sir,’ she said, somehow retaining her calm. ‘It is done. But were it not, you are the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.’
Mr. Darcy said nothing further. On hearing her words, he stood and left the room, leaving Lizzy alone with her thoughts, none of which were very favourable to the gentleman who had just left her company.
21
So Miss Bennet retains some of that wilfulness, Fitzwilliam Darcy reflected, as he prepared to leave Rosings. It was most unfortunate that she chose not to express in front of that damnable clergyman.
He sighed with regret, guilty at his lapse in judgement over seeking the hand of an already-engaged woman, but even more so over his actions with respect to the sister. Was it any surprise that Miss Elizabeth had shown him such contempt?
He glanced out the window, seeing the roof of the parsonage in the distance. It was three days since he had seen her. He had watched for her walking in the park but there had been no sign of her. Strange, since she had previously appeared to enjoy the pursuit. He had given up hope of seeing her alone again before he returned to Pemberley.
Eventually, though, custom got in the way of his more intimate feelings and he found himself riding to the parsonage to bid farewell to the good lady. It was with great disappointment that he found the clergyman alone. Miss Elizabeth, it appeared, was unwell and had taken to her bed for the past several days.
‘Yes,’ Mr. Collins reflected. ‘She does not have such a hearty countenance as I first imagined.’
Darcy swallowed back his indignation at this lest his true feelings show through. ‘You’re not speaking of livestock, Mr. Collins. This woman is to be your wife.’
‘True,’ the clergyman agreed. ‘But one must consider factors such as these. I beg your pardon sir, I mean no ill to Miss de Bourgh. But she is of a different class to Miss Elizabeth, as you well know. One would not expect a lady of Miss de Bourgh’s standing to help with domestic matters. A clergyman’s wife, on the other hand, may be prevailed on to help parishioners in need and act as an all-around good sort.’
Darcy exhaled, looking around the man’s room and wondering at the misfortune that had pushed Miss Elizabeth into this life. ‘You must love her fiercely in order to tolerate such failings,’ Darcy said drily.
Mr. Collins apparently found this amusing. ‘Love!’ he cried, as if it was the first he had heard of the concept. ‘I must say, Mr. Darcy, I never believed you to be a romantic! No, I believe a marriage is no place for love. I beg your pardon, but it is such a frivolous idea peddled by ladies with simple minds and too much time on their hands. Oh if only they might choose to study the scriptures instead, they might find their minds much broadened!’
Darcy listened with increasing wonderment, but was offered no pause in which to speak.
‘No,’ Collins continued. ‘It’s a matter of duty. I have a duty to my parishioners and to your dear aunt. And not so much a duty, but a certain patronage to my late cousin’s children. I can’t conceive of a more solid base for a union. Can you?’
‘No,’ Darcy muttered, looking about the room. ‘You are sure Miss Elizabeth is not to be disturbed? I should like to thank her for her charming company these past weeks.’
‘No, alas,’ Mr. Collins said, eyes still brimming with disapproval.
22
Elizabeth Bennet heard not a word of her future husband’s exchange with Mr. Darcy. She was still heartsick over his betrayal of her sister, though the pain had ebbed somewhat. No, she had seized on the opportunity to evade Mr. Collins and had declared herself unwell for that reason. The weather had turned and the rain was ceaseless. She had not been able to get out of doors in days and Mr. Collins had had to abandon his gardening. It was a most intolerable situation indeed, particularly since she could expect it to last a lifetime.
When at last she descended the stairs and took her seat at the table in the parlour, her future husband looked upon her most favourably. She was not to know the reason why until after they had dined and he had taken the now familiar step of fetching a book of sermons in order to read to the ladies.
‘Funny ideas, that Mr. Darcy, though he does seem rather taken by you, Miss Elizabeth.’
Elizabeth felt the first slight increase in pulse that she had experienced for days. ‘Is that so, Mr. Collins?’ Her feelings about the prideful gentlemen had not changed a jot, of course, but it alarmed her to hear that her future husband might have learned of the conversation that had taken place in his own home.
‘He called in the morning to inform you he was taking his leave from Rosings. I must say, I wondered at his feeling the need to do so, but he is a connected man and held in high esteem by society.’
Yes, Elizabeth thought with no small hint of bitterness, and it is unfortunate that Mr. Darcy does not bestow such high esteem on others, rather seeks to oppress those less fortunate than he. To her future husband, she replied simply: ‘yes, I do suppose it would be an advantageous connection.’
‘For the benefit of the parish, of course,’ Mr. Collins added primly.
‘Of course,’ Lizzy said, no longer even finding the humour in her cousin’s pretensions. His foolishness was so vast that there seemed little sense in doing so, and what was the point? There was nobody with whom to discuss those shortcomings.
The happy couple was disturbed by the sound of hooves outside; well, the groom-to-be at least appeared to have finely honed his senses to detect the sound of horses at several hundred yards. He abandoned his book of sermons and dashed to the door with hardly time to excuse himself to the ladies.
Lizzy sighed with relief, quite without intending to. She glanced cautiously at her aunt, but she need not have worried. Her mother’s sister had never given any indication that she was aware of the ever-present turmoil in Elizabeth’s heart, nor did Elizabeth think such an awareness would give her pause. She shared with her sister an almost zealous desire to see the Bennet girls married off—it did not matter to whom so long as that gentleman was possessed of greater means than the Bennet family.
‘I do hope this rain will soon cease,’ Mrs. Philips remarked with a yawn.
Elizabeth heartily agreed. The constant, driving rain was a plague on their enjoyment of the vast Rosings Park, and it had had an almost soporific effect on her aunt. Still, every day in the rain at Hunsford meant she remained unmarried for just a short while longer. Such an arrangement was tolerable to Lizzy.
Mr. Collins arrived back in high spirits, which was no surprise whenever he was fresh from an encounter with her ladyship. Elizabeth expected him to announce that they had been invited to Rosings—invitations had been few
when she had the company of her nephews, but it appeared she was more wont to invite Mr. Collins when there were no other dinner guests at Rosings.
Elizabeth’s original assumption couldn’t have been further from the truth.
‘Lady Catherine believes it’s time we married; that it’s a folly to draw out our engagement for much longer.’
Lizzy gasped in shock before measuring her reaction. ‘Oh,’ she said in a high-pitched voice.
‘Yes,’ Mr. Collins went on as if she had never interrupted. ‘Of course, she is right, as she so often is. My position in the parish will not benefit from a marriage-to-be so much as it will from a marriage.’
‘Indeed,’ Lizzy said with growing displeasure.
I shall hire a hack carriage at the earliest. You’ll forgive me, madam, but a man of my position has little interest in attending to the trifling matter of ladies’ fancies. I am sure your dear mother will be happy to help you with the wedding clothes that are required.’ His expression grew grave. ‘Though of course, as a clergyman’s wife, I should expect the frivolities to be kept to a minimum.’
Elizabeth had little desire to turn the marriage into a carnival. Mr. Collins took her lack of response as disappointment.
‘Oh come now, dear Miss Elizabeth. Of course I’m willing to pay for modest wedding clothes for the occasion. You need not worry on that account. You shall go to Longbourn immediately and I shall follow on when all is settled.’
‘Thank you Mr. Collins,’ Elizabeth said, taking solace from the prospect of spending time alone with her sisters and mother. ‘That is most generous.’
23
The hack carriage was not a particularly comfortable one, but Elizabeth cared not. Being free of Mr. Collins’s endless sermons and dictates was favourable in itself. Even Mrs. Philips appeared to be revived by the journey.
Darcy Steps In Page 5
