by C. P. Odom
“Not ill exactly, I think, but my mother writes she is out of sorts and spends almost all her time either walking about the country, which has always been her delight, or remaining upstairs in her room, which is rather unusual for her.”
Damnation! Darcy thought uncomfortably. I would have expected such a lively girl to move past the distressing events of the Netherfield ball more quickly. After all, it has been more than three months, and she is no more than twenty years of age. That is far too young to still be harboring such dejected feelings!
Meanwhile, Mary selected a sheet of music and began to play. Darcy was unsurprised to find she was much as she had been at Lucas Lodge, possessing a certain skill at application without having the inspiration of either genius or taste.
When Mary finished, she looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had listened with every indication of appreciation. “Well, sir, what shall I play next? Do you have any particular favorite?”
Fitzwilliam’s mouth had opened to respond when Lady Catherine interjected herself, again demanding loudly to know what they were speaking of. Made anxious by such an interruption, Mary immediately selected a sheet and began playing. Lady Catherine was already moving toward the pianoforte and stood listening for a few minutes.
“Does Mrs. Collins not play excellently, Darcy? She has certainly improved since beginning to play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room though she should have had the advantage of a London master. She has a very good notion of fingering though her taste is not equal to Anne’s, of course. Anne would have been a delightful performer had her health allowed her to learn.”
Darcy froze his expression to prevent his eyes from rolling at the sheer gaucherie and impudence of his aunt’s comment. He was not sure he had concealed his distaste from Fitzwilliam, however, since his cousin had suddenly lowered his head, seemingly fascinated by the crease in his trousers. Mary, however, appeared to notice nothing amiss, her eyes focused on the music in front of her.
Lady Catherine continued her remarks on Mary’s performance, mixing with them many instructions on execution and taste, to the detriment of the enjoyment of the rest of the party. Mary received all of her ladyship’s comments with the appearance of appreciation, and she, at the request of the gentlemen, remained at the instrument until her ladyship’s carriage was ready to take the Hunsford party home.
***
The two cousins gathered in Darcy’s room after the Collins party had departed, delayed by Lady Catherine’s one-sided recitation of advice for the two of them. Her counsel covered everything from their attire—Breeches are much preferred over trousers at all times except the most informal—to how they should spend their time—Our library at Rosings is superior even to your library at Pemberley, Darcy. That should be where you gentlemen spend most of your time—to how Darcy ought to desist from his economic interests—It is not at all seemly, Darcy, this unhealthy interest of yours in trade. It is not a proper endeavor for a gentleman. Not at all!
As a result, both of them felt the need for companionable company and considerable liquid encouragement.
“That pig-swill is going to make you go blind,” Darcy said, watching his cousin pour a glass half full of dark liquid.
“Nonsense, Darcy,” Fitzwilliam retorted mildly, taking an appreciative sip. “McDunn was kind enough to give me two bottles of his Scotch when I was packing. I was afraid of evenings like this.”
“Yes,” Darcy said sadly, “you know as well as I what our aunt is like.”
“True, true,” grumbled Fitzwilliam. “But I think she gets worse every year, though my father, for some obscure reason, seems to be quite fond of her and would not understand if I evaded the visit.”
“I am glad I was unable to convince McDunn to join us. I doubt her ladyship would have been any more amiable than last year.”
“I remember her demanding you send McDunn to sleep with the servants!” Fitzwilliam said, giving a hoot of amusement. “I had to bolt from the room, or I would have laughed aloud. I thought her ladyship was going to have a paroxysm when you flatly refused to do so. Your uncle would not have been pleased to have her perish in such a manner.”
“Probably it would be best to change to a less depressing subject, cousin.”
“Excellent suggestion, Darcy,” Fitzwilliam said agreeably. “Shall we visit the parsonage tomorrow? Mrs. Collins said her husband is usually far too busy in his office or his garden to spend much time with her. It would be delightful if she was young, pretty, and available, but nevertheless, her company is a distraction to be cherished. I cannot imagine anything more dreadfully boring than trying to find an interesting book in my aunt’s library!”
Darcy grimaced as he remembered Mrs. Collins’s comments about her sister. Fitzwilliam regarded his reserved cousin questioningly as Darcy stared deeply into his brandy glass. He was familiar with his cousin’s sometimes-bleak moods, but this was unusual even for him.
But Darcy seemed to have noticed his cousin’s curiosity and now had his emotions under good regulation. “I suppose staying away from Rosings would be wise. Her ladyship seems to have rather upset me as you can see.”
Fitzwilliam nodded though he was not sure Darcy had actually named the source of his discontent. But he said nothing and kept the whole conversation for later consideration. He intended to keep his eyes and attention sharp, however, since he might acquire a clue or two regarding what was on his cousin’s mind.
***
Tuesday, March 24, 1812
Rosings Parsonage, Kent
If the parsonage had been a topic of conversation among the gentlemen, then the gentlemen had been an equally interesting topic for Mary’s thoughts. Soon after she first arrived at the parsonage, she had learned Lady Catherine’s two nephews would visit soon. She remembered Mr. Darcy slightly from Hertfordshire, but she had been completely unacquainted with her ladyship’s other nephew.
She knew from her husband that Mr. Darcy was intended for Lady Catherine’s daughter, Miss de Bourgh, so she had been quite surprised to see little conversation between them during the evening. She mentioned the subject to her husband, but he re-affirmed that the match was the determined intention of his patroness. Still, she had to wonder.
The arrival of the younger son of the Earl of Matlock was of even more interest because of his relation to the nobility. Her ladyship had referred to him as a colonel though he did not wear his uniform.
That would be a great disappointment to Kitty and Lydia, she thought in satisfaction. To meet a colonel who deigned not to wear his red coat would strike them speechless!
Mr. Collins had disappeared toward Rosings early in the morning, promising to bring back information regarding when the visitors might call on them. So she was quite surprised to look out the window and see her husband approaching with the gentlemen at his side.
She immediately went downstairs to the dining parlor, which was a larger room with a more pleasant aspect, and thus had a clear view as Mr. Collins scurried ahead to open the gate for the visitors. Immediately afterward, the door chimes signaled their arrival.
In the better light of the dining-parlor, Mary could more easily see that Colonel Fitzwilliam, while not handsome, was more sturdy and robust than he had seemed in the candlelight at Rosings. It made her wonder whether he was really the dilettante she had supposed him to be. He was, however, as he had proven the previous evening, most truly a gentleman despite his neatly trimmed beard that went decidedly athwart the current fashion for gentlemen of her acquaintance.
Mr. Darcy, who followed him into the room, looked and acted much as he usually did, paying his compliments to Mrs. Collins with his usual air of composed reserve and then sitting back to let his cousin carry the conversation.
The colonel, as before, was dressed as a gentleman rather than an officer, and he fulfilled her expectations by again openin
g the conversation with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man. After only a few minutes, however, Mr. Collins excused himself to his study, claiming the necessity of working on his sermon for Sunday.
Her husband’s departure seemed to bring a noticeable change to Mr. Darcy’s air since he settled back in his chair and became more comfortable.
“Do you hear anything from your letters regarding Mr. Bingley?” he said after some minutes. “You mentioned your sister is doing well, but I have heard nothing from my friend.”
“Everything Jane says in her letters indicates he is as happy in his new life as she. Jane is wonderfully frequent in writing very long letters, and she tells me everyone in the neighborhood comes to call very often, and they receive frequent invitations to tea and to dine.”
“I am very pleased to hear it, Mrs. Collins. I have written Mr. Bingley several times, but he has not responded. He has always been a rather indifferent correspondent, and I have simply been too busy to visit. But it seems as though he has been quite occupied himself. And your parents are well from what you said last evening.”
“Indeed they are, sir, but thank you for enquiring,” she said, looking at him curiously since he had always stood rather aloof from the inhabitants of their country neighborhood.
“But you are worried about your elder sister.”
“I am,” she said slowly, thinking this last question might be more significant than it appeared on the face of it. “But Elizabeth denies any physical infirmity in her letters, simply saying she is making up for the absence of Jane and myself by walking even more than she usually does. She has always loved wandering about the countryside.”
Darcy nodded, saying he was relieved to hear it since her sister would not be so active if she were ill. Mary nodded in return, but she wondered what private motives had caused this most unusual interest.
I shall have to write Lizzy and tell her about this, she thought. Though Mr. Darcy never showed the interest Mr. Bingley did, he did dance with Lizzy several times. And my mother was quite outspoken about soon having three daughters married and not just two.
The gentlemen stayed for almost an hour and made their farewells most amiably, saying they would return regularly. That pleased Mary immensely since she had been gratified by their attentiveness. Their visit had certainly broken the monotony of life in the parsonage.
Chapter 20
My heart no longer felt as if it belonged to me. It now felt as it had been stolen, torn from my chest by someone who wanted no part of it.
— Meredith T. Taylor, author
Tuesday, April 16, 1812
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
In mid-April, Lydia and Kitty returned from walking to Meryton in an acute state of despair. Elizabeth had forgone her walk earlier due to a sore ankle. She sat with her mother, trying in vain to read a book she had recently acquired, but she could not seem to concentrate.
It had been much the same since those tempestuous two months the previous autumn when so many of her preconceptions and hopes had been disarranged and then ruthlessly shattered. A shadow of her previous impertinence had barely started to resurrect itself, leading her to apply labels to different parts of the autumn. Pre-Darcy was the time before the tall, handsome, and utterly disquieting gentleman entered Hertfordshire, and she had abbreviated this first period as PD. The two months leading up to the ball had become During-Darcy and thus DD. And the time after he departed from Netherfield was, of course, After-Darcy or AD.
The present time was definitely AD. She wished she could somehow regain her carefree air and be the same person she was PD. But it was difficult. Charlotte had often tried to help since she had discerned enough of her dear friend’s discomposure to know it concerned Darcy. That had been straightforward enough since she had seen most of the interactions between them. But even she had no idea of the true, soul-shattering impact this prideful man had made on her friend.
And Elizabeth was unwilling to say more, even to Charlotte. She still was surprised that she had bared her heart to Jane. She could never reveal her story to anyone else despite knowing she could completely trust in Charlotte’s confidence. Recalling the devastating night she cried herself to sleep in Jane’s arms, she could not bring herself to go through it again.
Elizabeth heard the loud, vulgar voices of Lydia and Kitty as soon as the front door opened, and she shook her head in exasperation at their complete lack of manners. But this occasion appeared somewhat unusual because there was little gaiety in their voices.
Both girls burst into the parlor, and Kitty said, almost in a wail, “You will not believe the distressing news we just received from Lieutenant Denny!”
“The regiment is leaving Meryton for summer quarters!” Lydia said.
“In Brighton!” Kitty said, and this time her voice was indeed a wail.
“Are they indeed!” Elizabeth said, her satisfaction plain.
“Lizzy, do not prattle on in your usual way!” snapped her mother, but Elizabeth ignored her.
She had barely been able to treat her mother civilly after the disastrous night at Netherfield. Since then, it had been difficult for Elizabeth to restrain her urge to scream her outrage and hurt at her mother. Most of the time, it was all she could do to force herself to turn away and ignore her mother’s follies.
“They will be gone in a little more than a month,” Lydia said in a rush, her anguish palpable. “They are to be encamped at Brighton. Where is that, Mama?”
“I only know it is on the sea, somewhere south of here,” Mrs. Bennet replied.
“Do you think Papa would take us there for the summer?” Kitty asked excitedly. “Would you ask him?”
“I do not think my father would agree to such an ill-conceived scheme as this,” Elizabeth said. “Such an endeavor would disjoint our family for good and all. Good Heavens! Look at how we have been upset by just one regiment! What would happen with a whole camp of soldiers?”
Both her mother and her sisters were quick to contradict her, certain their opinions were irrefutable. But Elizabeth only smiled at their fancies, for she knew her father better than they did. Despite his usual neglect in managing his family, he was logical enough to realize the foolishness of such a proposal.
And so it proved at the evening meal when her sisters raised the subject. Mr. Bennet listened to their arguments in silence, concentrating on his meal. At the end, having finished eating, he leaned back, patted his lips with his napkin, and smiled at them.
“I already knew I had two of the silliest girls in all of Great Britain,” he said in bemused scorn, “and I listened to these frivolous arguments with as much amusement as I usually derive from reading my son-in-law’s letters. On this occasion, however, I believe you two have bettered all previous marks for absurdity.”
“But, Papa,” cried Lydia, “it would hardly cost more to go to Brighton than to stay at Longbourn for the summer!”
“And on what, pray tell, do you base that assertion, my girl? I have never seen you pay the slightest attention to the many hours I spend laboring over my ledgers to ensure I do not exceed my income. Why, neither of you can even remain within the monthly pocket allowance I give you! You are always coming to me for more money, even with the little presents your mother lays in your hands.” He turned to his wife. “Yes, yes, I know of your gifts, Mrs. Bennet! Depend on it, girls—and you also, Mrs. Bennet—taking the whole family to Brighton would be extremely imprudent. We shall not go.”
“I should not have gone anyway,” Elizabeth said, having listened without comment.
“I never expected you would, Lizzy.”
But Lydia and Kitty could not understand their father’s rejection of their scheme, and they were cast into extreme misery. They said nothing further since they were a bit afraid of their father. However, if they could not reproach their father for his lack of
understanding, they vented their ire in what they believed to be a safer direction.
“How can you be so cold-hearted, Lizzy?” Lydia said. “How can you be smiling at a time like this?”
“Because, as my father just said, you are both being ridiculous,” Elizabeth said matter-of-factly.
“Good Heavens!” Kitty said in despair. “What is to become of us? What are we to do?”
“You shall do much better than before this, I would think, without any red coats to drive you into frenzies.” Elizabeth made no attempt to hide her smile as she made this comment.
But their affectionate mother joined with her youngest daughters and shared all their grief.
“I remember enduring the same misery when Colonel Millar’s regiment went away, these five-and-twenty years ago. I cried for two days together, and I thought my heart should break.”
“I am sure mine surely shall break,” Lydia said mournfully.
“If we could but go to Brighton!” Mrs. Bennet observed, motivated similarly to her daughter.
But her husband only shook his head as he rose from the table. “Yet, I remain resistant to all this wailing and caterwauling. We shall remain at Longbourn.”
So saying, he departed, leaving the least sensible of his family to their lamentations.
***
Tuesday, April 30, 1812
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
Elizabeth’s first indication of a reversal—at least a partial one—of her father’s decisiveness came a fortnight later as her sisters returned from their morning walk to Meryton for the few remaining days before the regiment departed and Lydia and Kitty’s world came to an end.
She looked up as both girls rushed into the parlor where she and her mother sat, and Kitty wailed, “It is not fair! It is just not fair!”
“What is?” Mrs. Bennet asked, her interest roused by the possibility of some new and possibly even scandalous rumor from Meryton.