Chapter 39 #2
Mr Collins sighed. “I fear so. She likes to entertain; before my marriage, I dined at Rosings weekly. Compliance has proved easier than her displeasure. She also takes a vexing interest in my parish affairs and seldom approves my decisions. ’Tis a most fatiguing distinction, I assure you.”
Elizabeth could see it now—Lady Catherine’s arrogance born not of deliberate malice but of long-indulged authority, protected by wealth and consequence.
The resemblance to Fiennes struck her, nonetheless.
His dominance had thrived in secrecy; hers flourished in the open, unchallenged by rank or restraint.
Elizabeth’s sympathy for Mary and her husband deepened.
It would not, she suspected, be long before they sought relief from Hunsford altogether.
When the carriage drew up at the parsonage, she bade her companions goodnight and withdrew at once.
She felt unaccountably weary, likely born less of exertion than of endurance.
Exposure to such a woman as Lady Catherine was enough to drain anyone’s spirits.
She determined that a brisk walk in the morning would restore her strength and fortify her for whatever future interviews might await.
Elizabeth’s first week in Kent passed quickly.
She was not required to spend time in Lady Catherine’s company save for tea one afternoon, and the respite suited her perfectly.
Most days were devoted to her own amusements.
Elinor accompanied her into the village of Hunsford, where they discovered a charming confectioner’s, a modiste, a haberdashery, and a lending library.
They found other small shops of interest, and a tearoom where they enjoyed delicate cakes and pastries.
Miss Lane accompanied them, treated by Elizabeth as a companion rather than an employee.
In the afternoons, while her daughter rested, Elizabeth walked out. She explored a new path each day, marking her favourites for further rambling. It was on one such shaded track that she met someone she had dared not hoped to see.
A familiar voice broke through the quiet. “Mrs Fiennes!”
Her heart leapt, and she turned to behold Mr Darcy striding towards her. The path she had chosen that morning ran in the direction of Rosings, sheltered by trees that opened to a small grove carpeted with early spring flowers.
Joy lit her countenance, and she hoped he could read her sentiment. “Mr Darcy! What a pleasant surprise! What brings you to Kent?”
He reached her side and bowed over her hand with courtly warmth. “My cousin and I are come for our yearly visit to my aunt, Lady Catherine. We shall go over her estate books and ensure all is in order.” Their eyes met, his intent and questioning. “May I join you?” he asked.
She inclined her head and accepted his offered arm, a flutter of shyness catching her unawares.
This will not do, she told herself. You have overcome all that held you back—and you still love him.
She resolved to leave him in no doubt of her feelings and drew a little nearer to him until their shoulders brushed.
“’Tis tremendously pleasing to see you,” she ventured, her heart hammering as if she were a girl once more.
A warmth suffused his features. “And to encounter you brings me the same happiness. Visits to Lady Catherine seldom fail to vex; she must ever have her way, and she resents our attempts to improve what she deems beneath her notice. This is the last year before my cousin Anne inherits fully, however. She has already spoken with my uncle; she is the true mistress of Rosings and she wishes to manage her estate.”
He hesitated, then added with quiet candour, “My aunt wrote that Mr Collins had married. I was relieved to read on and learn it was not you he had taken to wife. I am truly glad for your sister and new brother.
A smile touched her lips. “As am I.”
He looked at her a moment, then looked down as they walked on. “Still, I must confess I meant to question Collins for news of you—but I find that unnecessary now. I have missed you more than I can say.”
The admission filled Elizabeth with glee. He had missed her. “I missed you, as well.” She heard his sharp intake of breath. “Let us speak plainly, sir. I have found that which I sought, and I am ready to move forward.”
He halted, releasing her arm, eyes fixed upon her. “Elizabeth—are you saying what I think you are?” The earnest hope in his countenance transformed him, lending a boyish charm to his already handsome features.
“I am,” she said simply. “Mr Darcy, if you still wish it, I believe a proper courtship is in order.”
Mischief glimmered in his eyes. “Only a courtship? How very disappointing.” Drawing her into his arms, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “Pray, tell me we shall not wait long before we marry.”
She looked up at him, her heart too full for restraint.
“Then you may consider us engaged, sir, if it makes you more content. I am to remain in Kent until the end of April. Elinor and I shall return to Longbourn for Jane and Mr Bingley’s wedding, and afterwards to Margate. I know you dislike the sea—”
“On the contrary, I adore it. Let me tell you a story.” Offering his arm once more, he led her along the path whilst he spoke of his sister and all she had endured since the previous summer, concluding with Georgiana’s gradual recovery.
“So the sea no longer holds its terrors. It controls me no longer; rather I hope it shall become a place of renewal. May I come with you to Margate?”
Resting her head lightly against his shoulder, she sighed in satisfaction. “Of course. We shall have a marvellous time.”
Together, they would make new memories. She no longer held a fear of the future. The past no longer ruled her; its lessons had shaped her strength, not her sorrow. And with Darcy beside her, she felt assured that all she had borne had led her here.