by Kate Barton
“Mama,” breathed Anne. Her dark eyes were clouded.
“Anne, you know my opinion on you coming out in cold weather,” chided Lady Catherine, frowning at her daughter. “You are wearing your thinnest cloak. I must insist that you return to your chambers immediately.”
“Of course, Mama,” Anne answered. She ducked her head, looking at Elizabeth apologetically. Then she scurried away.
Lady Catherine set her sights on Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, I was most displeased that you were not in the drawing room when I came,” she said. “When Mr Collins told me that you were taking a turn around the garden, I could scarce believe my ears. A young lady, taking a turn around the garden when she should be waiting! What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I am sorry, Your Ladyship,” Elizabeth said. “I found that I needed some air, and since you seemed to have forgotten the time…?”
Lady Catherine’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple. “My dear young lady,” she answered, crisply. “I never forget the time! I am known for my time keeping skills!” She drew a deep breath. “Tea is waiting to be served, Miss Bennet. I must insist that you accompany me back to the drawing room.”
“But of course,” said Elizabeth, turning to leave. “It was an unexpected delight, to come upon your daughter in the garden. She is charming. You must be very proud of her.”
Lady Catherine looked perplexed. “Anne? She is an obedient girl, usually,” she said. “Although I am most displeased that she came into the garden when she has been expressly advised not to by her doctors. The chill wind can cause a relapse, and she must be in peak condition for the wedding!”
Elizabeth felt saddened. Lady Catherine talked of her daughter as if she were a horse, being carefully prepared and trained for an event. But then, it was an event, wasn’t it? The wedding between Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh. One in which all the participants were expected to play their part, thoroughly and to the letter.
As she followed Lady Catherine back to the drawing room, Elizabeth reflected that as much as Lady Catherine was training them, the participants in this event might not be as perfectly aligned with her vision as she might like.
Chapter Four
Luncheon at the parsonage was being served. Elizabeth tried very hard to look down at the table, and not be drawn into the table’s conversation even though she was at the centre of it.
Mr Collins was in a disagreeable mood, finding fault with everything. The dishes chosen by Charlotte for the luncheon were not what he desired; the servants were not clearing the dishes between courses quickly enough. The soup was cold. The mutton overcooked. But his main bone of contention was Elizabeth’s behaviour at Rosings the previous day.
“To keep Her Ladyship waiting so, cousin,” he reproved, frowning at Elizabeth. “Lady Catherine, who is such a beneficent patroness, to Mrs Collins and I! You realise, cousin, that her patronage has only been extended to you out of kindness to us.”
Elizabeth turned her head toward him. “Her Ladyship had kept us waiting for over half an hour, Mr Collins,” she reminded him calmly. “A quick stroll around the garden was hardly breaking with protocol.” She gazed at Charlotte, who was looking at her pointedly. Elizabeth sighed. “I do apologise, Mr Collins. It was not my intention to cause offence, or make things difficult for you.”
“Lady Catherine was all graciousness,” Mr Collins continued, almost as if she hadn’t spoken, “and, dare I say it, had an air of bewilderment! To think, she kept turning to me, and asking in a small voice, ‘have I offended Miss Bennet in some way?’ That such a great lady should be pained in this manner!” He picked up his fork and attempted to stab a potato on his plate which slid around in the gravy. He sighed dramatically.
“Husband, do not distress yourself so,” said Charlotte. “All was resolved in a timely manner.”
“Thanks to the forgiving nature of Her Ladyship,” Mr Collins sighed, gazing reverently to the ceiling as if a heavenly visitation had just occurred. “I thank the Lord daily that we are so blessed, Mrs Collins.”
“Indeed, Mr Collins,” replied Charlotte. “As do I.”
“Miss Bennet, I must advise caution in speaking out of turns to Miss de Bourgh,” Mr Collins said now. “Her Ladyship hinted to me, later in the afternoon, that you had caused some distress to her daughter when you encountered her in the garden on your spontaneous stroll.”
“I encountered Miss de Bourgh sitting in the garden,” said Elizabeth. “I made conversation with her. It would seem rude to have turned away and walked in the other direction.” She smiled faintly. “If I caused any distress, I am afraid that I failed to see it. On the contrary, Miss de Bourgh seemed to enjoy our conversation.”
Mr Collins pursed his lips. “Miss de Bourgh is of a delicate constitution, cousin,” he said. “One cannot know how anything one’s speech may affect such a nature. I find it best to skirt around any topics that may arouse strong emotion. Or not talk to her at all, if you have any doubt.”
“You mean, like her impending marriage?” Elizabeth wiped her mouth with her napkin. “For that was all that we talked about, Mr Collins. I find it surprising in the utmost that one shouldn’t talk to Miss de Bourgh about something which is going to change her life completely. Despite being sickly, she is still a human being, with thoughts and opinions of her own.” She stared at him, down the length of the table. “I believe she has a right to express them.”
Mr Collins blinked at her, owlishly. Sir Lucas and Maria looked from Elizabeth to Mr Collins, seemingly confused by the conversation. Mercifully, in Elizabeth’s opinion, luncheon was over anyway. Mr Collins had an appointment which he had to rush to; Sir Lucas and Maria were taking a stroll around the garden. Elizabeth turned to Charlotte, who had settled by the fire with her needlepoint.
“You are not displeased with me, are you, dear Charlotte?” Elizabeth stared at her friend.
Charlotte put down the needlepoint she had just taken up. “Of course not, Lizzy,” she replied. “Although it wouldn’t hurt for you to be mindful of how upset Mr Collins gets over propriety concerning Lady Catherine. It is only a short visit, after all.”
Elizabeth felt a small stirring of guilt. Her dear friend had just reminded her gently that while she would leave someday, Charlotte had to live here, and suffer the consequences of any rift between her husband and his esteemed patroness. It was certainly not her intention to cause any friction.
“I am sorry, Charlotte,” said Elizabeth. “But I must say, I do not understand why it would cause any disapproval if I spoke to Miss de Burgh. Mr Collins seemed to be warning me off, and I cannot understand why.”
Charlotte sighed. “Mr Collins is just following Lady Catherine’s lead,” she replied. “Lady Catherine, for reasons known only to her, has never encouraged people to converse with her daughter. She keeps her very isolated.”
“Poor Miss de Bourgh,” said Elizabeth. “The image of the silent, sickly invalid is just that – an image, cultivated by her mother, I do believe. Once you talk to her, Miss de Bourgh is as intelligent as you or I, Charlotte. I also don’t believe that she is as sick as we are all encouraged to believe she is.”
“That may be, Lizzy,” said Charlotte, picking up her needlepoint again. “Regardless, it is between Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh. We must be respectful of what boundaries Lady Catherine has seen fit to erect around her daughter, regardless of our opinion of them.”
“Of course,” replied Elizabeth. But inside, it rankled her. Anne was only a delicate soul because she had been moulded into that role. Elizabeth had seen the intelligence burning in her dark eyes and heard the cultivation in her speech. There was no reason that Anne should be deemed an invalid, who must not be approached. Yet everybody around her seemed more than willing for her to play that role and not challenge it.
Elizabeth thought of how Anne had reacted to questions about Colonel Fitzwilliam. There was more to the story, she was sure of it. Colonel Fitzwilliam didn’t visit his aunt every year
because he wanted to spend time with her. Anne was the real reason. She was sure that they were in love, but either unable to admit it to each other, or had decided that they couldn’t risk the ire of Lady Catherine by declaring it. Either way, it was unjust.
Elizabeth settled in the chair opposite Charlotte by the fire, picking up her own needlepoint. She knew that she was being warned off speaking to Anne again, but she was determined to find out more, and try to help her. She had failed to help Jane and Mr Bingley, and look what had happened to them.
And Mr Darcy was at the heart of this situation, as well. Perhaps he had no knowledge of the feelings between Anne and the Colonel, as he had with Jane and Mr Bingley, but he had still agreed to become engaged to Anne knowing that she didn’t love him and he didn’t love her. All for propriety and duty, no less. Elizabeth doubted that the man had a heart at all. Look what he had done to Mr Wickham, as well.
In her preoccupation, she misjudged her sewing and pricked herself with the needle. A single drop of blood fell on the pristine linen. As she watched it stain the fabric, a plan slowly started forming in her head.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth had grown restless in the afternoon. There was only so much needlepoint that she could do before a great feeling of longing for nature would start to overwhelm her. None of the others were interested in a walk, so she put on her bonnet and set off by herself. She assured Charlotte that she wouldn’t venture far.
Climbing a small hill, she stopped to rest for a moment, gazing out at the vista in front of her. The parsonage seemed a mere speck in the distance, with the grand estate of Rosings Park looming over it, almost like a parent enfolding its young. Or a predator about to devour its prey, thought Elizabeth darkly. It seemed symbolic to her, given the influence the great house had over the humble parsonage, and its occupants.
“Are you enjoying the air, Miss Bennet?”
She spun around. How had she not heard the horse and its rider approach? But she hadn’t. And now, she was face to face with Mr Darcy. Of all the people to run into while she was out by herself. Well, there was nothing else for it. She would just have to grit her teeth and make polite conversation about the weather before she could excuse herself.
“I always enjoy the air, Mr Darcy,” she responded now. There was a pointed silence.
Elizabeth sighed. Why did he insist on approaching her, to make her stand here, when he would not talk? He could have ridden past her. In fact, it had just occurred to her that he probably had gone out of his way to approach her.
“Congratulations on your engagement,” she continued now. “Miss de Burgh is a lovely young woman. I am sure that you will be very happy.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, but continued to stare at her.
“It is your turn now,” she said. “You should probably make a remark about the chill in the air, unseasonable for this time of year. And I would then respond that spring has been very chilly this year, compared to the last. What say you, Mr Darcy?” She turned her head to the side, assessing him.
“It is indeed chilly,” he said, slowly. “I wonder at you walking by yourself without a warmer cloak.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I find that walking invigorates me,” she said, gazing back at the vista. “So much so, I have no need of a warmer cloak. But thank you for your concern, of course.” She inclined her head.
“My aunt mentioned that you visited Rosings yesterday,” he continued. “She said that you went missing, strolling around the garden.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Hardly! While the garden at Rosings is impressive, it is not large enough for one to get lost within it, I think. I was merely enjoying the walk. Lady Catherine’s concern was admirable, but unfounded.”
He paused, staring at her. “Your family is well?”
“They are all well, I thank you.” She stared back at him. “Have you come to Kent from London? I wonder that you have not seen my sister. She is staying there, with our aunt and uncle.”
“I have not had the pleasure of running into Miss Bennet,” he replied, coldly.
“No?” Elizabeth tilted her head, staring at him. “I find that surprising, but then I guess London is a large place, I grant you. You left Mr Bingley there? I do hope he is well.”
“He is tolerable.” Mr Darcy stared out at the vista. His mouth was set in a grim line. “I must depart back to Rosings for dinner. Good day, Miss Bennet.” He inclined his head. Without waiting for an answer, he sped off down the hill.
Elizabeth watched him go until he was a tiny figure in the distance. Detestable man. He had separated Jane and Mr Bingley, she just knew it. He had known that Jane was in London and had avoided her. Elizabeth would stake her life that he had made sure that Mr Bingley went nowhere near her sister as well. It had taken all her strength to not confront him over Jane and Mr Bingley, and his hand in the affair.
And now, he was separating another pair of lovers. As always, he was at the centre of it. He and his insufferable pride.
Chapter Five
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet! A livelier tune is in order, I feel. An Irish jig, or some such thing.”
Elizabeth looked up from the pianoforte in the drawing room at Rosings, acknowledging Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s command with a slight nod of her head. She had been sitting at the instrument since dinner had finished, playing tunes from a songbook. She had been lost in playing a sonata by Haydn when Lady Catherine’s voice had boomed across the room.
The assembled party of people were all staring at her. Lady Catherine sat at the centre of them, of course, like a queen surrounded by her entourage. Mr Darcy was leaning against the fireplace, separate from the others. Anne de Bourgh was sitting in a seat opposite her mother, a pensive expression on her face as she looked at Elizabeth.
Mr Collins and Charlotte were seated alongside Lady Catherine, with Sir Lucas and Maria sitting in single chairs alongside Miss de Bourgh. But where was Colonel Fitzwilliam? Elizabeth looked around her, searching. She hadn’t seen him leave the room, but then, she had been lost in her playing.
Ah, there he was. Directly behind her, perusing the books that lined the walls. As if he felt her gaze on him, he lifted his head from the tome that he had plucked from the shelf and looked at her. His smile was genial and genuine. Elizabeth smiled back, and he closed the book, returning it to its place before walking over to her.
“You play well, Miss Bennet,” he smiled.
Elizabeth’s smile broadened. “You are too kind, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said. “I am afraid that I will never play very well. I lack the patience that one needs, and I also do not practise enough. My sister Mary is more accomplished on the piano than I.”
“I think that you do yourself a disservice,” answered the Colonel, resting against the instrument.
“Miss Bennet! An Irish jig!” Lady Catherine was craning her neck towards the piano while fanning herself vigorously.
Elizabeth sighed, rolling her eyes at the Colonel. He stifled a laugh.
“Of course, ma’am,” she called out, flexing her fingers.
As she played, Elizabeth turned again to the Colonel. “Are you a music lover, Colonel?”
He smiled slightly. “I sometimes attend the opera,” he replied. “And some recitals, when in London. But I must admit that I am not knowledgeable, although I appreciate others talents, of course. Have you attended the opera, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I have always wanted to,” she said, wistfully. “But I am afraid that I have never had the opportunity. Listening to the musicians play at local balls is as much as I have experienced.” She looked down at her fingers, moving across the keys. “You enjoy a busy social life whilst in London, Colonel?”
“The usual,” he answered. “I find city life tedious, I must admit, although I do understand its charms. I find the country much more amenable. It is one of the reasons that I always come to Rosings…”
Elizabeth looked up from her playing. He was no longer looking
at her. Instead, his head had turned back to the party. Elizabeth followed his gaze. He was staring straight at Anne de Bourgh, a wistful expression on his face.
“You come to Rosings annually?” Elizabeth raised her voice slightly.
The Colonel turned back to her quickly. His eyes looked sad.
“As a rule, Miss Bennet,” he replied. “Some years I have been unavoidably detained, but I have been attending my aunt ever since my own parents died. Rosings is like a second home to me.”
“How fortunate you are,” said Elizabeth, “to have such a place to come to! I know if I were in your place, I would be coming even more frequently. Rosings is truly an impressive estate.”
The Colonel smiled. “It is indeed,” he replied. “One of the most impressive estates in all of England, I would wager, although Pemberley would surely give it a run for its money. Have you ever been there, Miss Bennet?”