by Kate Barton
Mary continues the same, as well. She is currently studying the work of an obscure theologian that I cannot remember the name of, and quotes him at odd times. When not poring over his words, she practises on the piano, much to the chagrin of our dear father, who often implores her to ‘cease and desist.’
Life continues, then, much as it always has here, Lizzy. I take comfort from that. Sometimes routine is good. When I was in London, staying with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, I had one visit from Caroline Bingley. She called on me at the Gardiners, but did not stay long, and did not talk of her brother at all. Of that brother, I never saw him at all on the London circuit, although people did tell me that he was in residence.
I know what you are thinking, Lizzy. That I am pining for him. But I am quite resolved that there is nothing for it but to put him entirely out of my mind. I do realise that it is not meant to be, and that there is little point in ruminating on the matter. I am simply grateful that we had a chance to get to know one another, and that he was once in my life, even if it was for such a short time.
Do not worry about me, my dear sister. I hope that you are well, and that all are well at the parsonage. Please do give my best regards to Mr and Mrs Collins, as well as Sir Lucas and Maria Lucas. I know it will be a trying visit for you, Lizzy, but do try to keep your equilibrium. I believe that Aunt and Uncle Gardiner are going on a short summer tour soon, and that they will come to fetch you from there soon for the same purpose.
Your dear sister,
Jane
Elizabeth let the letter flutter out of her hands, where it landed in her lap.
Poor Jane. She had known, of course, what would happen in London; Mr Darcy had made very sure to plant the seed in Mr Bingley’s head that Jane was unsuitable, and it was now bearing fruit. That Caroline Bingley had decided to drop her ‘dear friend’ Jane as well was quite in character for that lady, in Elizabeth’s opinion. She had never believed that Caroline Bingley’s regard for Jane was genuine; and as soon as Mr Darcy had decreed it should go no further, Miss Bingley had been a willing accomplice.
Elizabeth picked up the letter, studying it again. She did not believe for a moment that Jane had let her regard for Mr Bingley go quite so easily. Jane was simply being Jane – putting a brave face on it. Elizabeth was disappointed in Mr Bingley, as well. That he could be so swayed from his heart by some carefully chosen words from his friend. It was all so intolerable!
In her agitation, Elizabeth stood up, pacing the room. She could not sit here a moment longer. She needed air, and to walk. Grabbing her bonnet quickly, she exited the parsonage, heading in the general direction of the village. She barely saw what was around her as she walked.
She was so lost in her rumination, she failed to hear the hooves behind her until the horse and its rider were almost upon her. She glanced over her shoulder in surprise. It was, of course, the man himself, as if he had been summoned by her ill wishes. Mr Darcy.
“Miss Bennet.” He tilted his hat at her. She dropped into a half curtsy, refusing to look at him.
“If you please, Mr Darcy,” she said, through gritted teeth, “I have a letter to post and I must not delay. Good day.” She started to walk, not looking back. The effort to be civil to the man was too much, today of all days.
But he didn’t take her hint and ride off. Instead, he followed her at a distance, until she was forced to stop, glaring back at him.
“What is your purpose, Mr Darcy?” she called. “I do not think that I need an escort for such a short stroll. And I would not ask you to be mine, in any case!”
He looked affronted. “Miss Bennet, you seem out of sorts.”
Elizabeth forced a smile onto her face. “I have just received a letter,” she said. “A letter from my dear sister, who has informed me that while she was recently in London your good friend, Mr Bingley, failed to call on her, or see her at all.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I wonder why he ignores her when his regard for her was so plain to see. It is obvious, Mr Darcy.” She glared at him again, pointedly.
“We have already discussed this,” he answered, crisply. “I outlined my reasons quite succinctly, I do believe.”
“Oh, yes,” said Elizabeth. “My sister’s inferior connections – of course! And tell me, Mr Darcy…” she hesitated, then plunged in “…tell me how you justify what you did to Mr Wickham?”
Mr Darcy paled. “The man is a reprobate,” he hissed. “You do not know the circumstances relating to my estrangement from Mr Wickham. There were very good reasons that I have decided that he should have nothing to do with me or my family.”
“Really?” said Elizabeth. “When your own father expressed a wish that he be looked after? When his mother was such a dear part of your life? I find it hard to believe that there are any good reasons for such a cavalier disregard!”
Mr Darcy’s eyes glittered. “I simply will not be spoken to in such a way,” he said, “even by you! I apologise that you have such a low opinion of me, Miss Bennet. But I must re-iterate that you know nothing of the circumstances surrounding Mr Wickham’s relationship with my family.” He stopped, his chest heaving. “I can see that I am disturbing your walk, Miss Bennet. I wish you a good day.”
Elizabeth watched as he turned his horse, spurring it to great speed back the way that he had come.
She stood rooted to the spot. Emotions coursed through her so strongly, she was not surprised to look down and see that her hands were trembling.
He had been as he always was…proud and dismissive. She expected no more of him. And yet why did one thing that he had said stand out, and take root within her mind…?
I simply will not be spoken to in such a way…even by you.
Even by you. What could he possibly mean? He had never hidden his low opinion of her, even though other people claimed that he admired her. Why would he say that he would tolerate more from her than anyone else?
Elizabeth frowned, thinking deeply. The man was a conundrum; a Chinese puzzle that twisted and turned the more that you tried to solve it. She simply would not think of him again. Why must he always insist on talking to her when he knew quite clearly what her opinion of him was? When he had done something directly against someone he knew she cared deeply about?
Elizabeth looked to the left, and then to the right. She simply could not decide which direction to go in. One part of her desired to continue with her walk; another part desired nothing but to retreat to the parsonage, and to sit down and start writing. Two letters: one to Jane, of course, but the other to her Aunt Gardiner, entreating that she and her uncle put forward their planned trip, and come and pick her up immediately.
She could always go back to Longbourn, of course, but that would mean explanations. To Charlotte, to Mr Collins…even to Lady Catherine. It would be tiresome, but she would do it, if necessary. Anything to get away from here, and hopefully never lay eyes on Mr Darcy again.
But she would have to lay eyes on him again, wouldn’t she? She would be invited to the wedding; Lady Catherine had told her so, and hinted that she may even magnanimously invite her entire family, a circumstance that troubled Elizabeth just a little. The thought of her entire family at Rosings – especially her mother, and her younger sisters – was not a happy one. They would be overwhelmed, and not understand how to act accordingly.
And then Mr Darcy could sneer at her, just a little bit more.
But once again, his voice spoke to her, niggling at her mind: Even by you. She shook it away.
Thinking about the wedding led to thoughts of Anne de Bourgh. She felt guilty about poor Anne. She seemed so alone and in need of a friend. She was suffering so, under the weight of her undeclared love for Colonel Fitzwilliam, and her impending marriage to Mr Darcy. Elizabeth knew that her presence here was helping Anne, just a little.
But she did not delude herself that anything she said would stop what was about to occur. Anne was simply too much in the power of her mother to ever stand up to her. The Colonel felt that his
hands were tied. And so, the wedding would go ahead, and they would all just have to learn to live with it.
What an impossible situation all around. Elizabeth felt her spirits sink lower.
She rambled for a while on the surrounding hills. It was only the darkening light that suddenly awoke her to the fact that it was getting late. She should return to the parsonage immediately. Charlotte would be wondering where she was.
But there were no voices when she let herself in the front door. Puzzled, she stood looking around for a minute. Then Mrs Simmonds, the housekeeper, informed her that indeed, they had all returned from the picnic, but Lady Catherine had suddenly sent word to dine at Rosings. They had waited for Miss Bennet, then had to leave to be on time. Would Miss Bennet like to wash and change, and set out for the estate?
Elizabeth contemplated this. The last thing she felt like was being in the company of Lady Catherine and Mr Darcy this evening. Eventually, she turned to Mrs Simmonds and said could a man possibly go to Rosings and inform the party that she was feeling unwell and would be unable to go out tonight.
The housekeeper nodded, scurrying away. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. All things considered, it had worked out well. She could spend the evening alone. She could write her letters in peace.
It was only when she was at the dining table, abstractedly eating a makeshift dinner the servants had put together for her, that she saw another letter propped up on the hall stand.
Standing, she walked towards it, picking it up. Her name was on the front in black ink. She turned it over, but there was no indication on the reverse of the envelope who had sent it.
“Mrs Simmonds,” she called out. The housekeeper came out of the kitchen.
“Who delivered this letter?” Elizabeth stared down at it.
“I am sorry, miss,” the housekeeper said. “I was meaning to tell you, but then with everything else that happened, I forgot. Mr Darcy called in a few hours after you left and before the others got back. He didn’t want to stay. He just instructed me to give you this letter.” The housekeeper curtsied, then walked back to the kitchen.
Elizabeth slowly walked back into the dining room. How peculiar! Mr Darcy must have returned to Rosings, directly, after their encounter today, and written this letter quickly. Whatever he wanted to say, he did not want to talk to her directly about it.
Her curiosity was piqued. But she stared at the letter for a good long while, resisting the temptation to open it.
Eventually, she settled beside the fire and tore it open. It was a long letter; two pages. He wrote well, with a good hand. Several times, Elizabeth stopped reading, her brow furrowed. By the time that she got to the end of it, she hardly knew whether to laugh or cry.
Was Mr Darcy the ogre she had always thought he was?
Chapter Twelve
Mr Darcy stood as still as a statue, looking directly in front. It was a pose he had perfected over the years, from having to endure many dress fittings. The tailor was measuring his arm, muttering under his breath with a mouthful of pins.
The door opened and in walked Fitzwilliam. Darcy watched him cross the floor to stand in front of him.
“Everything going well, Darcy?” The Colonel cocked his head to the side, watching the procedure.
“Tolerably,” Darcy answered, suppressing a sigh of irritation. It was his least favourite thing to do in the world, but it must be done. He was being fitted for his wedding clothes, after all.
At the thought of his approaching wedding, Darcy felt his blood run cold. Time was ticking; it wouldn’t be long before Rosings would be overrun with guests, and he would take Anne de Bourgh as his wife. It was as it should be, he told himself. He tried very hard not to think of another woman, who he had written to only yesterday. A letter unlike anything that he had ever written in his life.
How had she taken it? He could imagine her, frowning as she read it. Not believing what he said; still determined to think the worst of him. Miss Elizabeth Bennet seemed to like doing that. And still…why had he written it? Why was he so determined for her to change her opinion of him, to let go of this prejudice against him?
“I should be finished soon,” Darcy continued. “Then, it is your turn, Colonel.”
Fitzwilliam frowned. “I had forgotten that I must be fitted,” he admitted. “I was just about to go for a ride.” He stared out of the grand window, his eyes sad.
Darcy frowned, also. What on earth was wrong with Fitzwilliam?
“You seem low in spirits,” he said, cautiously. “Are you pining to be away from Rosings?”
“Yes,” answered the Colonel, slowly. “That is it, exactly. I think that I will go back to London, at least for a little bit before the wedding. Can you do without me?”
“If I must,” replied Darcy. But he continued frowning. He didn’t think that was all that was bothering his cousin. There was more to it, but Fitzwilliam was determined not to tell him. So be it.
“As long as you are back in good haste,” he continued. Fitzwilliam nodded, then walked out of the room.
Darcy watched him leave. He pondered his cousin’s mood for a minute longer, then his mind drifted back to where it always landed: Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
∞∞∞
The lady herself walked the long corridors of Rosings at that very moment, dressed for travel. Today was the day. Her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had put forward the proposed trip and were picking her up this afternoon.
She had spent the morning packing, then paused. She should really go to Rosings and take leave of Lady Catherine and Anne. She would never hear the end of it from Mr Collins if she didn’t, but besides that, she wanted to see Anne.
The young woman was sitting in a chair by the fire when Elizabeth entered the room. Elizabeth’s heart lifted when she saw that Lady Catherine was not seated; in fact, the great lady was nowhere to be seen.
“Is Her Ladyship on her way?” she asked Anne, smiling at her as she sat on a chair.
Anne smiled. “My mother is abed,” she stated. “She sends her apologies, but it appears that she has a summer cold.”
Elizabeth’s spirits lifted further. “I do hope she recovers well,” she muttered, trying hard not to smile.
Anne turned her dark eyes to Elizabeth. “You are leaving us soon, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I am, Miss de Bourgh,” she replied. “I am afraid that my aunt and uncle will be here this afternoon to pick me up. We are going on a tour of the Lake District.”
Anne’s eyes shone. “How exciting for you,” she said. “I have never been on a tour and have always longed to do so.” She sighed.
“You will be travelling, very soon,” Elizabeth remarked, gazing at her directly. “I take it that you and your new husband will make your home at Pemberley.”
Anne’s face fell. “Yes, of course,” she said. “I am looking forward to it.” Elizabeth thought that she had never seen anyone looking less forward to something in her life.
“Anne,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I must out with it before I depart. You may never want to speak with me again, but I will take that chance.” She filled her lungs with another deep breath. “You can stop this, you know. You have the power. Your mother cannot force you into matrimony. Yes, she may make life difficult for you, but you will have the courage of your conviction.”
Anne looked at her in horror. “Miss Bennet,” she breathed. “Please, speak of it no more. I am resigned to doing my duty.”
“And what of Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth stared at her. “Have you thought how hard this is on him, as well? Watching the woman that he loves marrying someone else? His heart must be torn to pieces.”
Anne gasped, her right hand flying to her chest. “We are all of us in pain.”
“Then end it.” Elizabeth knew that she was being too direct, but she simply couldn’t stop herself. “You have the power within yourself to resolve the situation.”
But Anne was shaking her head vigorously. “Please,
Miss Bennet, let us part on good terms,” she whispered. “I would like you to depart Rosings in high spirits, without my problems blighting your conscience.”
Elizabeth smiled, slowly. “My dear Miss de Bourgh,” she replied. “I will think fondly of you. I was compelled to speak plainly, but it is up to you what you do with my words. Just know that you have my continual support, and I will be thinking of you.”
Anne looked like she was about to burst into tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “It means the world to me to have your good opinion.”
Elizabeth gazed at her, nodding. “You shall always have that, Miss de Bourgh.”
As Anne poured tea, Elizabeth reflected that she had done her best. Anne de Bourgh must find the courage within, but it looked as if that would probably never happen.