“I cannot but wonder what it is, Darcy, about handwriting that could bring such a colour to Miss Bennet’s cheeks.”
Elizabeth started and took a step backwards, conscious that Mr Darcy had blinked rapidly at his aunt’s intrusion, his gaze returning to hers before responding bluntly, “I am sure you cannot.” Yet he seemed to detect the discomfort upon Elizabeth’s face now they had once again attracted that lady’s attention, and he threw her an apologetic look.
“Perhaps we should continue,” he once again lifted his hand to indicate that they should resume their walk, and Elizabeth thankfully fell into step beside him, disturbingly conscious of his presence at her side once more as they put a little distance between themselves and Lady Catherine.
Chapter Eleven
There was silence between them for a moment; then, Mr Darcy spoke:
“I cannot tell you how gratified I am that you accept my word. Having made the decision to set before you all that man’s dealings with my family, I very much hoped that you would hear me out, but to know for certain that you now understand his true character and will thus no longer fall victim to his artifice is of no little comfort.”
Mr Darcy paused, and Elizabeth felt all the shame of her misapplied accusations well up inside; she looked away, blinking back a rush of sensation about her eyes.
“Miss Bennet?” the concern in his voice caused her to swallow painfully before turning back towards him, conscious that her eyes might be a little moist and praying that he would not notice.
“I hope – I hope most fervently that you soon recover from your disappointment.”
Elizabeth frowned, unsure of his meaning; then, suspecting he thought her enamoured of Mr Wickham – and why should he not, following her defence of him yesterday – she opened her mouth to speak, to assure him she was not personally injured by hearing of his true character, but the words were never spoken, for Colonel Fitzwilliam had materialised by his cousin’s side, and Lady Catherine’s voice once more intruded.
“Really, Darcy, I must insist upon your stopping this tiresome pacing, it is most distracting. Miss Bennet has taken ample exercise for this evening. Her colour is too high.”
It seemed to Elizabeth that Mr Darcy could not find an immediate response this time, but his loss of words mattered not for the Colonel stared thoughtfully at her before saying over his shoulder,
“That is because I am badgering Miss Bennet to play for us, Aunt,” he turned back to face her, smiling as he spoke. “And of course, her modesty is objecting to the rather copious praise I am bestowing upon her in an attempt to persuade her to delight us once more.”
Elizabeth returned his smile gratefully, thankful for his intervention, but hoping very much that he had not overheard their dialogue. At Mr Darcy she dared not look. Though relieved that some of her regrets had been expressed, she did not think she could have handled the intensity of their discourse for much longer. Perhaps if they had been able to have the exchange some time in the future… but just now, it was all too raw, too fresh and if she felt thus, she could not imagine how much worse it was for him.
Before she could make her way towards the pianoforte, though, they were joined by none other than Lady Catherine herself.
“Darcy, Fitzwilliam, fetch me some fresh coffee. I wish to speak with Miss Bennet.”
The Colonel snorted. “Good grief, Aunt, whatever happened to the belief that ‘one should not keep a pack of hounds only to hunt the fox oneself’? Are there not sufficient hounds here to pour the coffee?”
Lady Catherine glared at him. “Surely it is not much to ask, that my nephews might bring me some refreshment?”
Mr Darcy glanced over to the rest of the company as they rose from the card table. “Should you not return to your game, Aunt? They appear to be restless without you.”
“I am no longer disposed towards playing cards. Mr Collins has been instructed to tidy all away. I wish to have my part in the conversation.”
The Colonel grunted. “Come then, Darcy. It falls to us to know our place. Let Aunt Catherine converse with Miss Bennet.”
With a swift glance in her direction, Mr Darcy turned towards the nearby table housing the coffee accoutrements, accompanied by his cousin, who could be distinctly heard making a yapping noise not dissimilar to that of the hunting dogs at Longbourn.
Biting back a smile, Elizabeth faced Lady Catherine, who wasted little time in coming to her point.
“Remind me how it is that you are acquainted with my nephew, Miss Bennet. I fail to comprehend how your paths could have crossed sufficiently to claim an acquaintance.”
“It was in Hertfordshire, Ma’am.”
“Hertfordshire? What would Darcy be doing in Hertfordshire, of all places?”
“He was a guest of his friend, Mr Bingley, your Ladyship.” Conscious that the Colonel had turned suddenly in her direction, Elizabeth caught his eye briefly and frowned at the strange expression that crossed his face. Pushing it aside, she looked expectantly back at her companion, unclear where the line of questioning was going.
Lady Catherine’s gaze narrowed and then she nodded. “Ah yes, Darcy’s very close friend. He takes such prodigious good care of him, for his fortune is newly acquired, and he requires much direction and, indeed, protection. So Hertfordshire is the location of his estate, not the Lakes. I am better pleased with that choice, for all the County has little to distinguish it by.”
Elizabeth was all but ready to launch into a defence of her own little corner of England, conscious that the recurrence of the insinuation of Mr Darcy’s ability and desire to control Mr Bingley caused her no little agitation, but she was forestalled before she could speak.
“You would, of course, be but little known to Mr Bingley. Though I can understand how, being a gentleman’s daughter, you may have contrived some form of introduction during their stay in your country, it could be little more than that of a passing acquaintance.”
She turned to take her coffee cup from Mr Darcy as he re-joined them.
“Indeed, your Ladyship, you are mistaken. My acquaintance with the Bingleys was not ‘passing’.”
Lady Catherine returned her gaze to Elizabeth, narrowing her eyes as she did so.
“Yet they can be nothing to you, Miss Bennet. Though their family’s position in society is not of long standing – indeed, it is nothing to the Darcys, the Fitzwilliams or the de Bourghs – they are reasonably well- endowed financially and will –”
“Aunt! That was not what you said when I was last in company with you. You claimed young Bingley was just some upstart clinging to Darcy’s coat tails in the hope of social ascension.” The Colonel was unable to contain his amusement as he handed a cup to Elizabeth.
Lady Catherine’s mouth snapped together in a rigid line as she glared at her nephew.
“Fitzwilliam, you overreach yourself!” Turning back to Darcy and Elizabeth where they stood, she eyed them carefully for a moment before raising her chin, “So – as I was saying, Miss Bennet. The Bingleys, though not of the same standing as ourselves, would move in a different circle to your own family – and indeed that of Mrs Collins,” here she gave a dismissive nod in Charlotte’s direction.
“You are under a misapprehension, your Ladyship.” Elizabeth could feel the heat in her cheeks. “I was in company with both Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy on several occasions during their sojourn in the neighbourhood.” She drew a breath to calm her indignation. “Thus we are most certainly fully acquainted.”
A coughing sound from her right distracted Elizabeth slightly, but realising the Colonel had merely choked a little on his drink, she returned her gaze to her inquisitor.
The elder lady drew in a hissing breath, but Elizabeth was unimpressed.
“Mr Bingley’s estate is but three miles from my father’s and we frequented the same gatherings as he and his party,” here Elizabeth threw a lightning glance in the direction of Mr Darcy. “I also passed several days as a guest in his house when my sister w
as taken ill there.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s head reeled. Observing his aunt’s tightly compressed lips, effectively silenced as she was for a moment, he excused himself and took his coffee cup over to the tray of spirits, this time adding a hefty dash of whisky into his cup before taking a fortifying sip.
So Hertfordshire was the connection, the reason for the niggling doubt in his mind these past four and twenty hours – both Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Bingley hailed from that same county! Notwithstanding that coincidence, it now transpired that they were acquainted.
Fitzwilliam stifled a groan. He had shared some delicate information with her that he had suggested related to Bingley as they walked in the park on the previous day, and later the lady had pleaded an indisposition.
He turned around to face the room, leaning back against the wall next to the drinks table. His aunt had returned to her seat and was once more holding court with the Collinses. Darcy had taken a chair removed from the remainder of the company, his gaze resting fixedly upon Elizabeth, who had finally taken a seat at the pianoforte. Fitzwilliam eyed her full of guilt: what had he done?
Taking another hefty draught that almost emptied his cup, the Colonel was assailed by the implications of his ill-fated words. How naïve of him to speak so of Darcy’s closest friend.
The Colonel looked from Elizabeth to Darcy, then over to Mrs Collins. Yet there remained the mystery of the woman Bingley had fallen for, the alliance that Darcy had claimed he rescued him from. Wearily, the Colonel passed a hand over his eyes. It now struck him that there was every likelihood that either Mrs Collins or her friend knew the family concerned. Given Elizabeth’s dissatisfaction with Darcy’s actions when he revealed them, her challenge of his words and her later indisposition… Good heavens, there was even a chance she was acquainted with the young woman herself!
Well, there was nothing for it. He had a duty to ascertain the truth of it. Placing his empty cup on the tray he made his way across the room to join Mrs Collins and requested permission to join her.
“Your friend appears in better health this evening, Mrs Collins. I trust she is recovered from her indisposition?”
“I thank you for your concern, Colonel. I do believe she is well enough.” She smiled at the Colonel. “Lizzy has a very loving heart; she has been dwelling too long and too deeply on a disappointing situation that arose in Hertfordshire and has suffered some disturbance of her natural spirits, but I am pleased to see that she is improving.”
A disappointing situation? I hope most fervently that you soon recover from your disappointment. Darcy’s own words that he had overheard not moments earlier burnt a trail through his mind, and a sickening realisation began to dawn upon the Colonel. It all made so much sense, and if what he surmised was true, he could comprehend the rightful grounds for Darcy’s despair and conflict of mind.
Determined to confirm the matter, he launched into speech.
“Miss Bennet’s family – I understand she has several sisters?”
Charlotte smiled. “Yes, Colonel. The Bennets were blessed with five daughters, and each is as different from the next as could be!”
He forced a laugh, and tried to settle himself more comfortably against the cushions. With stealth and skill, he gently led Charlotte into a conversation about her home town of Meryton and the interests in particular of the local populace.
He suspected she was not a woman prone to or influenced by gossip, yet it was evident that Mrs Collins relished the opportunity to recall her friends and home and reflect upon their day to day lives and, as anticipated, the Bennet family were frequently mentioned. Though Mrs Collins was perfectly polite about her neighbours, sufficient was emerging to paint a picture of the Bennets, the family matriarch in particular.
Racking his brains the Colonel tried to recall what his aunt had been bemoaning upon their arrival in Kent: Mrs Collins’ friend came, she had advised them, from a family where there had been no governess, leaving the upbringing of five daughters in the hands of the mother – daughters who were all out, despite their young age and the elders being unspoken for. The Colonel sat up straight and slapped his head as comprehension dawned.
“Are you quite well, Colonel?”
“Forgive me, Madam. Pray, do continue – you were mentioning an assembly?”
Leading her carefully back into her monologue, the Colonel leaned back against his seat, impervious to the knobbly cushion digging into his back. Combined with his understanding of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s lack of good connections or dowry, this must be the unsuitable family!
Conscious that Mrs Collins studied him curiously, he roused himself and apologised.
“My dear lady, please forgive an old soldier’s poor concentration. May I fetch you some more coffee?”
Relieved at her acceptance, the Colonel excused himself and headed for the refreshment table, waving away the ever-hovering servant. Barely conscious of his actions, he poured coffee into two fresh cups and absent-mindedly added a liberal dash of whisky to both, and then paused as he held the cream jug over one of them. So this was the impediment revealed at last. His guilt over his indiscretion receded in a wave of anger towards Darcy. How could he? How dare he?
Darcy had, by his own admission, saved Bingley from the inconvenience of a most imprudent marriage – a young lady of unsuitable background with whom Bingley believed himself in love. Elizabeth was not only acquainted with the woman, she was the woman. His cousin, enamoured of Elizabeth himself, had separated a couple who shared a mutual regard and was now in the unenviable position of being unable to offer for her, not because of her unfortunate connections and unsuitable family, but because of his close friendship with Bingley, whom he had persuaded away from the very same alliance – an impediment indeed.
Adding liberal amounts of sugar to both drinks, the Colonel turned to face the room again, a cup in each hand. Elizabeth continued alone at the pianoforte, her head bowed in concentration; Darcy’s gaze was fixed upon her, a surfeit of emotions playing across his features. With a grunt of annoyance, Colonel Fitzwilliam replaced his cup on the table and walked with determined steps towards Mrs Collins, to whom he offered the remaining one before excusing himself.
Darcy was so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not immediately discern his cousin’s approach. This stolen evening was at its end; Elizabeth would be leaving with the Collinses at any moment, and he would likely never hear word of her hereafter. The ache in his throat intensified as his eyes devoured the sight of her at the pianoforte, the pain in his chest forming a physical band across his rib cage.
In the soft light of the candelabra, her dark hair shone and though she had not raised her eyes from the keys since she had started to play, he could picture well enough the glimmer that would be reflected in them should she do so. He could not tear his gaze away. He found her profile beautiful: long lashes resting on her cheeks, the sweep of her nose, her full lips… how could he let her go?
With an impatient sigh, Darcy stirred restlessly in his seat. She was not his to let go and never had been. He must accept that fact and, even more so, that one day she would belong to another…
“Darcy!”
With a start, he looked up to observe his cousin standing in front of him with a rather forbidding countenance.
“Come, I would speak with you,” and when Darcy did not immediately react, “Now, Cousin!”
Darcy rose from his chair. “What is it? Can it not delay?”
“No, it cannot. Now come!” and the Colonel set off towards the drawing room doors at a rapid pace.
Darcy looked on in bemusement, but fully conscious that the present direction of his thoughts was a self-indulgence he could ill afford, he slowly followed in his wake. At the door, Darcy hesitated, casting one last, lingering look towards the pianoforte, and then caught his breath. Elizabeth had raised her head and turned in his direction. Meeting her eyes for the last time he took one step towards her and bowed deeply before turning on his heel and
leaving the room.
Chapter Twelve
The library at Rosings Park was one of its few master rooms that retained an aura of natural grace and style. Essentially a masculine domain, Sir Lewis de Bourgh had established his reign over it and in the process had refused any over dressing of its space. As such, it retained an elegance and simplicity that the remainder of that great house could not pretend to emulate. There were no garish murals here, nor heavily ornate mirrors or chandeliers. Indeed, the walls were somewhat sparsely furnished with a small selection of watercolours of various sizes and subjects, one of which was a simply framed study of Anne de Bourgh whilst still an infant that had been commissioned by her father.
The baby Anne, swathed in pastel cloth and tended by a host of delicately drawn angels, had a skin tone far healthier than her sallow complexion in life, a specific instruction to the artist, for Sir Lewis had been advised that his only child was not long for this world. That he had sought to have her likeness captured as soon as was practicable, for fear there might come a day when he would fail to recall her face, served him little; within a twelve-month of the finished painting being hung in the library it was the father who had succumbed, not the daughter.
In more recent times, due to the inclinations of the present occupancy at Rosings, none of which demonstrated much interest in reading, the library was but rarely in use except when Lady Catherine’s nephews were in residence, when it became so often engaged as a refuge that below stairs it had been renamed “the Sanctuary”.
Thus it was that the servants, who had been dispatched to tidy the room after the post dinner indulgence by the gentlemen of the party, had all but finished their preparation of the room for its anticipated further usage. The fabric of the seats had been brushed, cushions plumped, the decanters replenished and the used crystal ware banished out of sight to the kitchens. Having re-stoked the fire and checked the candles for their life span, the last of the retainers disappeared through the servants’ access door concealed in the wooden panelling not a moment too soon.
A Fair Prospect Page 9
