Throwing herself back onto the couch, she met Charlotte’s steady gaze with a shrug. “Then we must trust that the gentlemen do not object to the intrusion.”
“The gentlemen?” Charlotte laughed. “Come, Lizzy. The Colonel clearly enjoys your company, and since when did you either care for Mr Darcy’s opinion or his enjoyment or otherwise of an evening?” She shook her head and returned her attention to her needlepoint.
Elizabeth stared at her friend, unable to muster a response. Then, attempting nonchalance, she too picked up her discarded work and tried to focus on choosing a new thread, determined to push aside any thought of the impending evening.
~o0o~
Darcy returned to Rosings weary and saddle-sore. He had not intended to venture quite so far when he had set out, and he was desirous of nothing more than a solitary evening in his quarters and a rapid departure for Town.
He knew it to be a fruitless wish, and he closed the door of his rooms with a snap and leaned against it, a posture reminiscent of earlier that day, after Fitzwilliam had suggested staying a further week. His instinctive response should have been to laugh bitterly at such a notion, yet he had been struck dumb momentarily by the surge of hope that had swept through him at the thought of spending just one more precious week in the same environs as Elizabeth. It mattered not for that brief moment that she hated him. The certainty of his never laying eyes upon her again had been tearing him apart, and the desire to look once more upon her face a temptation he was ill-prepared to suppress.
The one consolation he had drawn was that he was secure in his belief of his cousin knowing nothing of the previous day’s events, or he would not suggest such a thing. The failed proposal and his subsequent humiliation were his alone to bear.
Yet his long ride had been beneficial. Aside from losing the ache in his head from his indulgence in the fresh air, he had succeeded in convincing himself that he was relieved that he need never meet with Elizabeth again – pained by it, but relieved. If she was lost to him, then let her be gone, that he could attempt to heal his wounds and face his future with no further reminder of her distaste for his society.
With determination, Darcy pushed himself away from the door and strode with purpose towards his dressing room, where he encountered Thornton busying himself putting the finishing touches to the packing.
“Good evening, Sir,” Thornton straightened from his task and bowed politely.
“We are to depart at first light,” Darcy announced as he shrugged out of his riding coat, waving away his valet’s attempt to assist him. “Was the Express to Mrs Wainwright despatched?”
“As you wished, Sir,” replied Thornton bluntly.
Darcy smiled slightly at his valet’s tone. “Yes, yes – Mrs Wainwright will have the house in all readiness with no need of forewarning. The point is taken.”
Thornton bowed and pulled the bell rope to summon the servants with hot water.
A bath revived Darcy somewhat, and as his valet put the finishing touches to his attire, he ruminated upon the return to Town and being reunited with his sister. He had tarried too long in Kent, extended his stay more than once, and…
“You are ready, Sir.”
Darcy cleared his throat. “Err, thank you. Is dinner as usual?”
“Eight o’clock, Sir, but her Ladyship requests you attend her at half past seven,” and at Darcy’s raised brow added, “Lady Catherine desires your presence in the drawing room beforehand.”
Darcy acknowledged Thornton’s aid with a nod of his head, and turned on his heel and headed for the door. No doubt another dressing down and a further attempt at persuading him to journey to Bath were pending.
He reached the foot of the stairs as the hall clock chimed the half hour and set off across the marble floor towards the doors that led into the impressive, over-ornamented drawing room, nodding at the footman to open the door for him.
As the servant stepped forward, Darcy discerned the murmur of voices from the room beyond, and his steps slowed. With a jolt of despair, he realised in an instant what he was about to face: the party from the parsonage was in attendance! As if to reinforce it, the sound of her voice drifted towards him as the footman swung the doors open. His heart pounding painfully in his chest, Darcy found himself frozen to the spot.
“I cannot go in,” he thought frantically. “I can face neither her dislike nor her pity.”
He was about to turn back and seek the sanctity of his room when a hand thumped him unceremoniously between the shoulder blades and with a jovial shout of “There you are, Darce! Where have you been riding to all day, man?” Colonel Fitzwilliam propelled his cousin firmly forwards into the drawing room.
Chapter Six
By the time they set out for Rosings, Elizabeth’s spirits had calmed. The encounter would prove challenging, without doubt; in truth, any evening passed in a country house under Mr Darcy’s disparaging eye could be so, without such added complexity. Yet, conscious that he was blatantly the more injured party, she could only imagine that his torment must be of stronger nature than hers.
Though the manner of his leave-taking when delivering his letter did not indicate he held her in contempt, she struggled to reconcile her behaviour towards him whilst simultaneously retaining his good opinion. As this led her to wonder why she even wished this to be so, her confusion was great indeed.
All the way across the park Elizabeth ruminated thus, bewildered as to why she should care one way or the other, but it was not long before they were ushered into the drawing room and, her cheeks bearing a colour that was not merely induced by their walk, Elizabeth steeled herself for the encounter, only to find that the gentlemen had yet to appear.
Her agitation had little time to resurface though, for there was ample diversion in deflecting Lady Catherine’s asides from across the room whilst attempting to converse with Charlotte, who sat opposite her upon an elegant but overstuffed sofa. Thus, she was barely conscious of the doors opening, heralding the arrival of further company until she realised her friend’s attention had left her.
A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed the entrance of both gentlemen, and Elizabeth stood, unable to restrain the flow of warmth into her cheeks as their eyes met across the room, and she held Mr Darcy’s gaze for a moment before hurriedly dipping her head and curtseying. For an instant, her composure wavered for she realised from his countenance that he had received no prior warning of her presence.
Unable to articulate a sound, Darcy greeted the company with a short bow and made his escape to the far side of the room. His heart raced in his chest and heat permeated every pore of his body. The shock that had been thrust upon him had yet to abate, and instinctively he felt that his best option for survival of this tortuous evening would be to keep as far as possible from the source of his distress. By return, it was the least he could do to alleviate Elizabeth’s certain disquiet in the circumstances.
Without conscious thought, his gaze had fastened upon her even now, and he forced his eyes away only to meet instead the enquiring look of the Colonel across the room. Darcy swallowed in an attempt to relieve the sudden constriction in his throat and turned to face the window – a pointless exercise, as outside dusk had fallen and all he could determine was his own reflection and that of Elizabeth’s profile beyond him where she had retaken her seat.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stationed himself in what he felt was a strategic position for surveillance of the territory. He was opposite Elizabeth, and next to Mrs Collins – upon, it must be acknowledged, the most uncomfortable seat he had ever had the misfortune to be afforded – the perfect base for both observing his cousin whilst conversing with the ladies, for Darcy remained fully in his vision.
Yet despite his good intentions, the Colonel’s mind was troubled. The first hint of disquiet had struck him earlier that day when trying to focus on business matters but had easily been pushed aside, for it was not uncommon for his subconscious to seek random reasons to procrastinate when there wa
s tedious paperwork to deal with.
His pleasure in realising that his cousin had secured a further evening in the lady’s company and his stroll around the park had driven away any niggling thoughts that there was something escaping him in all of this situation with Darcy. Yet now, as the conversation typical of any pre-dinner gathering flowed around him, he was once again revisited by that concern, and…
“Colonel?”
He gave a self-deprecating smile. “Forgive me, ladies; what poor manners. As penance, I shall converse upon any matter that you may choose.”
Mrs Collins lips twitched, and Elizabeth laughed, and the Colonel leaned back against the brocade cushions, attempting to find a more congenial position.
“Any matter, Colonel?” said Elizabeth. “Surely not! For what would you have to say of lace or bonnets?”
“I would welcome your educating me in such fineries, for my understanding is limited, and I would far better serve my cousin, Georgiana, when I seek a gift for her on my travels if some generous-hearted ladies would be so kind as to instruct me.”
“You flatter us, Colonel, by asking our advice,” Elizabeth smiled at him. “But I am certain the ladies of the ton would have more usefulness to offer than those of us who hail from the depths of Hertfordshire.”
Fitzwilliam frowned briefly as the nagging doubt tugged once more at his subconscious but he pushed it aside. “Ah yes, never under-estimate the ladies of the ton when it comes to fashion! Yet,” he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “their rapacity for assisting me would be terrifying to behold. Their desire, ladies, to be of use to such a close relative of Darcy’s – should I be foolish enough to share my purpose – would surely overwhelm a man less robust than myself.”
As his companions expressed their amusement, the Colonel noted with resignation the stiffening of Darcy’s back over by the window and, determined to display his cousin in the best possible light, he ruminated upon the means. As they had touched upon the shallow group of ladies who could be the bane of Darcy’s life, he felt now might be an opportunity to regale Elizabeth with some examples of how his cousin was put upon, and as Mr Collins came at that moment to secure his wife’s attendance, he turned to the lady intent upon his purpose.
Drawing his reserve about him like a cloak, Darcy had at first withdrawn, striving to shut out the conversation that ebbed and flowed around the room, but his acute awareness of Elizabeth’s presence, the pleasing tone of her voice, her laughter, all conspired against him. Shifting his weight restlessly to his other leg, Darcy stared unseeingly out into the darkness that shrouded the grounds. Foremost upon his mind was whether or not Elizabeth had read his letter. Her reluctance to take it from him had left him in no doubt that she might not. Indeed, had he not debated that very point to himself when making the decision to write to her? And here he was, neatly caught in a dilemma of his own making: not knowing if she had generously allowed him to address her so and, if she had acquiesced, what her reaction towards its content might be.
With a suppressed sigh, Darcy reflected upon the perverseness of Fate. Though he had believed he might never see Elizabeth again, and whilst he neither anticipated nor desired any particular attention from her, he fought to resist the temptation to place himself where he could overhear her conversation and rest his gaze once more upon her features.
Shifting his position slightly so that the window afforded a better view of Elizabeth, he frowned at the reflection. Finding his cousin deep in conversation with her was unexpected, for he had thought that Mrs Collins was in company with her friend, yet she now appeared to have been commandeered by his aunt.
Darcy narrowed his eyes. His cousin clearly enjoyed himself, but Darcy was not foiled by Elizabeth’s performance. Though she appeared to maintain her end of the conversation with a smile, her air and countenance bespoke a mixture of discomfort and challenge. Darcy shook his head. How could he profess to know her so when he understood nothing of her dislike of him? How blind love had made him.
Love… Darcy acknowledged the ache in his breast as it intensified. Never had an evening at Rosings stretched before him so interminably. He realised, however, that to remain aloof he needed a purpose, and he reached for a book that lay on a nearby table, opening it randomly. It was the perfect foil as he resigned himself once more to closing out the sounds around him and allowing his thoughts to drift.
A short while later Elizabeth released a relieved breath as the Colonel took his leave of her. Innocent though he was of the implication of their recent banter, it did little to assuage her flustered spirits, and she only hoped that Mr Darcy had heard none of it.
Recalling that she had neither seen nor heard aught of that gentleman since she had retaken her seat, Elizabeth frowned, but with a slow and considered turn of her head, she immediately espied his presence over by one of the tall windows. She bit her lip in contemplation. This was likely her sole chance to offer an apology for the slurs she had made against Mr Darcy’s character and, much as he understandably desired none of her company, she would speak to him.
Rising from her seat, she made her way around the back of her chair before she lost her nerve. Conscious that to approach him directly might attract unwanted attention, Elizabeth hesitated before crossing over to the pianoforte and pretending to look through the music scattered thereupon. Once she was satisfied she had provoked no interest in the remaining company, she raised her eyes to peer over towards Mr Darcy. He still maintained his position at the window, albeit he now held a book listlessly in one hand. Yet the rigidity of his stance and the fingers of his left hand, drumming repeatedly upon the sill led her to believe that it held little sway over his thoughts.
Elizabeth returned the sheets of music to their original position and straightened her shoulders; then, hands clasped in front of her, she approached Mr Darcy’s back with purpose.
The sounds in the room behind Darcy had faded so far as to be hardly detectable, the conversation now a low, persistent humming that failed to intrude. Staring at a page that held none of his attention, it was a moment before something alerted him to someone’s presence nearby, and he looked up, searching the mirrored room behind him. His cousin appeared to be joining his aunt, and Elizabeth’s former seat was empty…
With a jolt of something akin to panic, he was assaulted by a waft of the very scent that he always associated with Elizabeth, and he strove to modulate his breathing.
“Darcy!”
Lady Catherine’s strident voice came as a surprise to more than just Darcy. He blinked rapidly before turning to face the room. Elizabeth was not six feet away, her reflection having been concealed behind his own, and she, like everyone else, had turned towards his aunt on the opposite side of the drawing room.
“I need you here this instant. I insist upon it. You have tarried too long at that window!”
Conscious that his heart raced and that every head was now turned back in his direction, Darcy replaced the book in its former place, bowed briefly in Elizabeth’s direction and made his way across the room towards his aunt.
The Colonel had refreshed his glass before settling himself into the chair vacated by Mrs Collins who, having been released from his aunt’s company, resumed her former seat. From his new position, he was able to scrutinise the whole terrain with ease. Having observed Elizabeth’s approach towards his cousin and Darcy’s palpable relief at having successfully evaded her, he had to admit to being extremely baffled. Why, even if unprepared to act upon his feelings for her, would he vigorously avoid Elizabeth’s company? Clearly her presence had been unexpected, but he knew Darcy to be made of sterner stuff than to be overcome by such a trifling matter.
The lady seemed intent upon seeking him out, belying Darcy’s foolish notion was that she held him in disfavour. Indeed, the spirited conversation he had just enjoyed with her only proved her suitability as the perfect choice for his cousin. The Colonel grunted to himself, and fidgeted in his seat – damn it, if this sea
t was not as uncomfortable as the last. Pushing his back into the hard cushions, he nodded at Darcy as he took the chair on the far side of his aunt, before turning to observe the ladies who had resumed their earlier positions.
The niggling concern that had assailed the Colonel earlier returned, but this time more pronounced. There was more to this than met the eye. Something prevented Darcy from furthering his cause and having observed the depth of his cousin’s despair and despondency these past four and twenty hours, the Colonel was determined to fathom it out. Clearly there was some sort of impediment, and if Darcy was prepared to neither confess it nor overcome it, it behoved Fitzwilliam himself to determine what it was and take whatever steps were required to remove it.
Meanwhile, he was determined that Darcy spend some time in company with Elizabeth, and with that intent firmly in mind, he stood and excused himself to his present company, heading for a further much needed top up of his glass.
Realising all of a sudden that Elizabeth had re-joined her and had spoken, Charlotte gave her friend an apologetic smile.
“I do beg your pardon, Lizzy, my thoughts were a-wandering.”
“Then perchance they met with mine? I must own to having lost them just now!” the two friends exchanged a warm smile. “I merely remarked that we must be close to being called to table – I perceive Mr Collins is on his feet in anticipation!”
Following her friend’s gaze, Charlotte noted with resignation her husband, pacing with importance to and fro before the imposing double doors to the drawing room, and consulting his pocket watch with irritating regularity.
“I suspect he takes that position in order to anticipate the approach of the footman. That way he can be the first to advise her Ladyship of his imminent arrival. ‘Tis not the first time I have seen such a manoeuvre.” Charlotte’s tone was staid, but the glimmer in her eye hinted at her amusement.
A Fair Prospect Page 5