by Jann Rowland
Having no other recourse, Darcy bowed again and let himself from the room, the sound of Anne’s laughter ringing in his ears. At the moment, he hardly knew up from down. He would have to think about the situation before he could process the surprises he had experienced.
Chapter IV
“Are you telling me you actually went to Anne’s chambers last night?”
The incredulous note in Fitzwilliam’s voice irked Darcy, though he knew his cousin’s disbelief was warranted. He replied with a curt nod, his stern gaze a warning that Fitzwilliam should focus on the matter at hand, rather than pursue his inevitable teasing. It was not surprising that Fitzwilliam ignored him.
“I can hardly fathom it. You have spent years fending off Lady Catherine. Had she caught you in Anne’s rooms, it almost certainly would have been for naught. What could you have been thinking?”
“I have already made it clear,” replied Darcy. “I wished to ascertain her feelings, and I am now glad I did so.”
“But surely you could have contrived some other way to do it—another way which would not be so potentially devastating to your ability to put off our aunt.”
“Fitzwilliam,” growled Darcy, “will you please focus on what I said? Can you summon no concern for our cousin?”
“Of course I can, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam. “I was simply astonished by your impetuous actions.”
Another glare and Fitzwilliam laughed. “No, I can see I have tormented you enough, and you will no doubt exact revenge, should I continue. I shall speak of it no more, however sorely I am tempted.”
“Anne, Fitzwilliam?”
Shaking his head, Fitzwilliam frowned. “We have all known for many years of how Aunt Catherine dominates her daughter, but I do not believe I have ever known Anne to complain about it.”
“She did not complain,” said Darcy. “In fact, if anything, she was far more jovial than I would have thought possible. But even so, it is clear that Lady Catherine rules her with an iron fist. Anne is of age, and though she will not control Rosings until she is five and twenty or she marries, she should still have some measure of freedom.”
“She would need to possess the strength to exercise that freedom.”
“Or have someone act on her behalf.”
Fitzwilliam shook his head. “You know very well that you and I can do nothing. But it is possible my father can.”
“When will you write to him, then?”
A grin settled over Fitzwilliam’s face. “I shall do it directly.”
A few days later Darcy was drawn to the parsonage, though he knew not exactly why. He had already acknowledged that the woman did not like him, and yet he was drawn to her. The force which pulled him seemed irresistible, and while he knew it would be more gentlemanly to retreat from the field in deference for her opinion, he could not quite help himself.
In this instance, however, Darcy misjudged, for when he was led into the parlor in which Miss Bennet was sitting, he found that she was alone. He had not truly given the matter much thought, but he had supposed that Mrs. Collins and her sister would be within as well.
“I am afraid you find me all alone this morning, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Bennet. “For my friend and her sister have gone to the village.”
Feeling embarrassed, Darcy mumbled some nonsense about not wishing to invade her privacy; it was a lie, he knew, for had he not come with the specific intention of doing just that?
“It is no trouble, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Bennet. “I am sorry you will be forced to put up with me, instead of conversing with us all.”
“That is no imposition, I assure you,” said Darcy, feeling more than a little silly. “I have always found you an engaging conversationalist, and I am certain we shall have ample subjects to discuss.”
Miss Bennet favored him with a queer look, but she said nothing further. Of course, his words were soon revealed to be a falsehood, as for several moments they sat without speaking. Miss Bennet seemed inclined to wait for Darcy to speak, and as usual, he was having difficulty finding something to say which was not completely banal.
“Are you enjoying your visit with your friend?” said Darcy finally, desperate to end the uncomfortable silence.
“Yes, very much. Charlotte and I have always been very close, and I have welcomed this opportunity to see her again.”
“I am sure you must. I will own that I was . . .” Darcy paused, not certain he wished to broach such a subject. But he was curious, so he forged ahead. “What I mean to say that I was surprised at your friend’s marriage.”
Miss Bennet frowned. “I assure you it is a most eligible match.”
It was all Darcy could do not to groan; her opinion of him was such that she could believe him capable of the opinion that her dearest friend—the daughter of a gentleman—was beneath a mere clergyman. He had not intended to give offense with his words, and he was quick to say: “My apologies, Miss Bennet; that was not what I meant. I am sure it is a good match, both from Mr. Collins’s perspective in that he gains an obviously sensible wife, and in that Mrs. Collins will eventually be able to reside in the neighborhood of her birth. I understand that Mr. Collins is your father’s heir?”
When Miss Bennet allowed it to be so, Darcy continued: “It is a good match, indeed, and it seems to me that your friend is quite content in it. But given Mr. Collins’s behavior at Bingley’s ball in November, I had thought . . . Well, let us just say that his attentions seemed to be fixed on another young lady.”
As he spoke, a smile of true amusement settled over Miss Bennet’s face. “Perhaps they were, Mr. Darcy. But the young lady did not favor his suit, and thus he redirected his attentions elsewhere.”
Perplexed, Darcy looked at her. “But would the same benefits as Mrs. Collins now enjoys not have been hers, should she have encouraged him?”
“It is all relative, Mr. Darcy,” replied Miss Bennet. “While her physical needs might have been met, the young lady was of the firm opinion that she and Mr. Collins would not suit, and she did not wish to enter into such an unequal marriage which would bring naught but frustration and grief.”
Darcy digested this tidbit of information, wondering at the woman before him. It seemed that she would not compromise for the sake of a comfortable situation, and though Darcy wondered at the imprudence of such a stance, his estimation of her rose in response. By that calculation, she also would not accept a marriage proposal from Darcy himself, despite knowing what he could give her. Of course, he could not be certain of that, as his consequence, when compared with that of Mr. Collins, was as different as night was to day, but something told him that Miss Bennet would not be swayed by such pecuniary considerations.
“Then I must commend the young woman for her principles,” said Darcy aloud. “Many in her situation might have chosen different, as I assume was the case with her friend. Her scruples do her much credit.”
“Not everyone is alike, Mr. Darcy. Whereas Charlotte is happy to be a wife, to care for her house and husband, and to be active in the community, her friend wishes to be loved and respected by her future husband. All these other things bring fulfilment, but they are not the paramount concern in her opinion. For all the benefits of Mr. Collins’s suit, he could not claim to love her, much less respect her, and as such, she had no desire to make either of them miserable by accepting.”
Well, in that there is no impediment, thought Darcy, admiring the set to her jaw as she stated her opinions. Darcy could not imagine anyone not respecting the woman before him, and he could offer her love in abundance.
The conversation strayed into other topics, and Darcy went away before too much longer. The words they had exchanged stayed with him and he thought on them constantly throughout the rest of the day. He had much to offer Miss Bennet—this he knew—and the benefits of his suit would not be limited to the material things of the world.
But in order to induce her to accept him, Darcy knew that he would have to improve her opinion of him. And though he
knew not how that might be accomplished, he was coming to the conclusion that he wished to do exactly that.
When Mr. Darcy left the parsonage, Elizabeth watched him go, wondering at the man’s behavior. Why he would visit her she could not quite fathom, any more than she could understand why he thought it necessary to dismount from his horse and accompany her on her walk.
His words concerning Charlotte, herself, and Mr. Collins, she dismissed without further thought. Though he expressed admiration for her convictions, the turn of his countenance suggested that he was disgusted with her for her naïveté, and she was not surprised by it, considering what she knew of the man. He would no doubt consider material factors before everything else when determining who should be his own wife. Elizabeth was more than willing to leave him to it—she had had enough of an example of her parents’ marriage to know that wedding a man who did not respect or love her would be condemning her to a life of misery and regret.
But all this did not explain why he had thought to seek her out twice, though in this instance it could be said that he had intended to call on all the ladies of the parsonage. With the colorless Anne de Bourgh in residence at the estate, along with the meddling Lady Catherine, the gentlemen were likely bored out of their minds, and even conversing with someone they heartily disliked—in Mr. Darcy’s case—must be preferable to monotony.
The sound of the outer door opening alerted Elizabeth to the return of Charlotte and her sister, and she opened the door, eager to greet them.
“Charlotte, I had not expected you to return so soon.”
“Our tasks were completed quickly,” replied Charlotte. Then she turned an inquisitive look on Elizabeth. “Was that Mr. Darcy leaving the parsonage?”
Elizabeth could not quite suppress a frown. “It was.”
“He came to call on you, particularly?” asked Charlotte, her eyes alight with mischief.
“He expected us all to be within,” replied Elizabeth. “I am certain that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam must be desperate for something to do. I will own that I wish he would not come, for he never has much to say when he does. I would much rather see the colonel.”
“He was bored when he came, immediately after arriving in Kent?” Charlotte’s manner had turned more serious, and she looked at Elizabeth with appraisal. “And when we were at Rosings the other night, he did not watch you, often ignoring everyone else in the room? And he did not visit you when everyone else was from home?”
“I told you, Charlotte—he expected us all to be within. As for your first example, that can be explained by a desire to remove himself from Lady Catherine’s company as quickly as possible, having forgotten the full measure of her character while he was away. Of the second, I have no knowledge.”
Charlotte laughed at Elizabeth’s sally, though she wagged a finger at her. “Mark my words, Lizzy, Mr. Darcy admires you. I should not be surprised if he were to propose before you both depart from Kent.”
“Mr. Darcy is in love with Lizzy?”
Groaning, Elizabeth turned to see that Charlotte’s sister, Maria, was standing behind them. It seemed that she had entered at a most inopportune time.
“Of course he is not,” said Elizabeth, while shooting a glare at her friend in warning. “Charlotte is only teasing.”
“Are you certain?” asked Maria, regarding her with wide open eyes. “Mr. Darcy did watch you most intently the night we dined at Rosings. I should not be surprised to learn that he admires you.”
Elizabeth groaned, even as Charlotte directed a look at her, positively teeming with smugness and amusement. “Not you too!”
“I think it is very romantic.” Maria sighed, her eyes dreamy and unfocused. “Just imagine it: a man who cared not for our society, so in love with you that he cannot help himself.” Maria’s eyes widened. “And did he not dance with none but you at Mr. Bingley’s ball?”
“Mr. Darcy is the same as he has ever been, and I am certain he no more admires me than he does you, Maria.” When Maria made to protest, Elizabeth directed a fierce glare at her. “Let us have no more of this talk. You know how Lady Catherine always speaks of Mr. Darcy marrying her daughter. What do you think she would say if even a hint of such a rumor were to reach her ears?”
Maria instantly paled, as was Elizabeth’s intention. “She would be most displeased!” squeaked the girl.
“Exactly,” replied Elizabeth. “I would suggest you do not mention it again.”
A mutter, which Elizabeth took to be an agreement, escaped Maria’s mouth, and the girl quickly left the room.
“For shame, Lizzy,” chided Charlotte, though her amused grin belied the severity of her words. “You should not terrorize poor Maria.”
“Would you have her incite Lady Catherine’s ire by speaking of such subjects with impunity? You know Maria would take no thought as to the consequences in favor of the joys of gossip.”
Charlotte laughed. “I am aware of my sister’s character, though I will assert that she means no harm.”
“I know, Charlotte. But I cannot have her speak of such things. I mean to enjoy my visit with you, and Lady Catherine can make it very difficult for us if she so chose.”
The subject was dropped, and soon the friends settled in Charlotte’s parlor, occasionally speaking of mundane matters. Maria descended soon after, and though she was subdued for a time, Elizabeth felt the weight of her gaze from time to time. But Elizabeth resolved to ignore it; the sooner Maria saw that there was nothing of admiration in Mr. Darcy’s look and that Elizabeth would not welcome his admiration should he offer it, the sooner she would lose interest.
When they had been sitting in this attitude for some time, the sound of a carriage and horses were heard, and Charlotte stepped to the window to see who had come to visit. She turned and regarded them, saying: “It seems we at about to be favored with a visit from Miss de Bough.”
Maria squeaked with surprise and Charlotte and Elizabeth exchanged an amused glance. Maria was still truly not accustomed to the Rosings ladies, and she looked on them with something akin to awe.
A moment later, Miss de Bourgh was led into the room, where she curtseyed and greeted them all.
“Will you not sit?” asked Charlotte, gesturing toward a nearby sofa.
“Thank you, Mrs. Collins,” said Miss de Bourgh. “I do not wish to be a bother.”
“You could never be a bother, Miss de Bourgh,” said Charlotte warmly. “I shall call for tea.”
For the first few moments of the visit, Elizabeth thought she saw a distinct resemblance between Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Darcy, and the thought almost made her laugh. Mr. Darcy was often taciturn and unwilling to speak, and it seemed like Miss de Bourgh was afflicted by the same curse. But though Mr. Darcy’s haughty disapproval often fell on those in the range of his contempt, Miss de Bourgh seemed reticent, more than anything else.
Charlotte, however, proved herself to be a good hostess, for she carried the burden of conversation, often with Elizabeth’s help, and as time wore on, they were able to draw something more of replies from Miss de Bourgh, though nothing more of liveliness.
“I understand your cousins visit Rosings every year at Easter,” said Charlotte as she was fixing Miss de Bourgh’s tea.
The choice of conversation topic prompted Elizabeth to shoot a glare at her friend, annoyed that she would choose to speak of the gentlemen. But Charlotte paid Elizabeth no mind; she handed Miss de Bourgh’s cup to her, which Miss de Bourgh took with a softly spoken word of thanks, and continued preparing the other cups, while waiting for her guest to reply.
“Yes, they come every year at this time. And I am glad they do, for I rarely have the opportunity to see any of my cousins. Darcy’s sister never comes, and Fitzwilliam’s siblings but rarely. As I have few cousins on the de Bourgh side, it can often be a little lonely at Rosings.”
“Then it is very kind of them to join you,” said Elizabeth, “and fortunate that they are at leisure enough to manage it.”
“It is kind of them,” agreed Miss de Bourgh. “But I must correct you in one respect—when they visit, they are not at leisure. Or at least they are not always so.”
At Elizabeth’s interested look, Miss de Bourgh continued: “Before his death, Darcy’s father visited every year to look over my mother’s books and deal with any matters of the estate which required a man’s intervention. Though Darcy did not come for two years after he inherited, he has since taken up the task in his father’s stead.”
“That is remarkable,” said Charlotte, and Elizabeth could tell from her friend’s manner that she was impressed. “For Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam to forsake their pursuits to be of use to you and your mother speaks very well to their characters.”
Miss de Bourgh inclined her head in agreement. “They have both been taught their duty from a young age. My cousin, the colonel, is diligent in the performance of his obligations—his parents opposed his entry into the army, but he decided he was not suited for the priesthood. As for Darcy, he has ever been a creature of duty. He is a good master of his estate, and if you speak to his younger sister, the best brother a woman could have. I am prodigiously fond of him, and of Fitzwilliam too.”
This was nothing new to Elizabeth—she had always known that Mr. Darcy was a creature of duty, and in that respect, it spoke well to his character, regardless of how some of his faults did the exact opposite. A sly glance from Charlotte told Elizabeth that her friend found this interesting, and something of which she should take heed. But Elizabeth ignored Charlotte.
“I understand that you are betrothed to Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, using the opening the woman had given her. “Do you expect the nuptials to take place soon?”
For a moment Miss de Bourgh looked at Elizabeth with wide eyes before she burst out laughing.
“Oh, no, Miss Bennet,” said she. “That is nothing more than my mother’s dream. Regardless of what my mother wishes, my aunt—Darcy’s mother—never agreed to a betrothal, and Darcy’s father refused to consider it.