Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
E lizabeth woke the next morning long before the sun was completely risen, but could already see that it would be a beautiful spring day. And spring it truly was, for she noticed the trees leafing and the flowers’ early buds from her window.
Nothing could lessen her temperament on a morning such as this! Even Mrs Montgomery was particularly lively that morning—flitting about, talking of all the new vegetables rising from the earth in the kitchen gardens. Elizabeth thanked her for the rolls and biscuits already wrapped for her morning walk.
This may have been the first morning Elizabeth truly hoped Mr Darcy would accompany her. While she had enjoyed a few solitary walks since his arrival, she admitted to herself that she preferred when he joined her.
Her feet carried her energetically to a path where she might be easily discovered. When she spied him approaching, she could see the look of mischief and humour on his face and laughed outright at his childlike manner. “Might I enquire as to the source of your amusement, sir?”
“I was recalling a particular expression I saw on your own face yesterday. I think, perhaps, you meant to vex me, but I will have you know that you certainly did not.” He was then attempting a stern face, but she could see his eyes smiling at her.
“Vex you?” She laughed heartily. “Of course not. I would never, Mr Darcy.”
“I shall have you know I too can play at your game. Perhaps I shall punish you by asking Mr Collins to recite a favourite sermon the next time I come to call. We shall see if you can remain as perfectly composed as I was able to.”
“You would not!” she said, feigning offence and laughing. “I am certain I shall manoeuvre this to my own amusement, sir! When you come requesting a sermon, I might tell my dear cousin of your preference for Fordyce’s sermons on the virtues of young ladies.”
“Clever girl,” he said most seriously, but with a great admiration that made Elizabeth’s heart pound and her breath come short. Fortunately, he offered his arm just then, and she took it quickly.
He was watching her, and she could feel it, sense it. She could hear his breath coming fast just over her shoulder, perhaps waiting for her to look up at him, but she could not. A fierce blush rushed hot over her face, but she was not about to give him the satisfaction of flustering her.
His hand came up to cover hers and set off a response unlike any she had experienced before. She tried to imagine other sensations that could be compared to the feelings such an action caused; but it was entirely foreign to her. His presence provoked an upheaval of emotions and sensations—the comfort of home, the excitement of a new book, and a slight sinking feeling in her stomach, like when you have been caught doing something you should not.
Once reaching the glade, they separated while appreciating the beauty around them. Elizabeth spoke, saying, “Mr Darcy, I was given to believe at Netherfield that your preferred morning exercise was riding. Are there not satisfactory horses at Rosings?”
“I do favour riding.” And that was all. He was not going to fall for that playful trap after all. She was a bit disappointed, but he continued, “Do you ride, Miss Bennet?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“I wondered as much,” he said. “You have the right disposition for it. I would imagine you a great rider one day.”
“Perhaps.”
“My cousin Anne also prefers to keep her feet firmly on the ground,” he said with a smile upon his handsome face. “However, I did encourage her to purchase a phaeton so she may take drives. It arrived just yesterday.”
“I would very much like to see that! I know not if I would feel safe on such a thing, with a perch so high off the ground!”
“I can assure you it is quite safe.”
“It sounds delightful. I imagine learning to drive it will take some time.”
“Fitzwilliam and I plan to take Anne out and instruct her in the afternoons.” He smiled as he offered, “I could teach you as well.”
“I do not imagine that being necessary. I can assure you, my father will never buy a phaeton. He would deem a vehicle assembled for the purpose of providing pleasure and gaining attention to be far too impractical.”
“Do you not agree that pleasure and practicality can both be achieved?” He looked deep into her eyes, and she wondered if they were still speaking of phaetons and ponies.
“I am sure they can be, sir,” she responded in an unfamiliar, husky voice—quickly clearing her throat.
His eyes darkened as he stared at her, “I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours, Miss Bennet.” The look caused a shiver throughout her entire body, and she instinctively averted her eyes.
Suddenly, his hand was on her cheek, tucking a stray, unruly curl back up under her bonnet. Elizabeth felt a delightful lurch in her chest as she looked up at him. The simple touch alerted all her senses in a way she had never felt before—his breath, she could hear; his smell of sandalwood and soap, she breathed in deeply; the warmth of his fingers, the darkening of his eyes. Of all these, she was simultaneously aware.
The space between them grew narrower, and she was unsure whether it had been she or he who closed the gap. His fingers lingered on her cheek and moved slowly down her neck. Her own breath was now coming rapidly, as if to match the pace of his. She tilted her face upwards, instinctively, looking into his eyes for an answer to a question she was unsure of, when suddenly he dropped his hand.
“We should, perhaps, return,” he murmured.
“Of course.” Left out of breath and still rather shaken by the emotions whirring through her mind, she stumbled in her first few steps back towards the path.
What a maddening man! First the proud, quiet man in Hertfordshire, and now...? This gentle, witty man? It was a shocking transformation from the Mr Darcy she first knew. She was aware that her attachment to him was growing—likely much against her better interests. But, how could she have feelings for a man she still distrusted? Which was the real Mr Darcy?
As they wound their way back towards the parsonage, Elizabeth asked him how he spent his days at Rosings.
“As you suggested earlier, I do often ride. In addition to my own pleasures, my aunt requires a great deal of my time. I have reviewed her ledgers and attended to estate business, much to the chagrin of her steward, I am sure.”
Elizabeth smiled at this image. “I imagine Lady Catherine’s steward is very capable.”
“Aye, he is. He has cared for the estate since I was a child. He does not require my oversight, whether or not my aunt desires it.”
“And do you not entertain callers every day?” she asked pertly.
“The ladies of the house do—and often Colonel Fitzwilliam as well. I am not typically at my leisure to join them in the drawing room until just before dinner—and of course, after. Occasionally, Mrs Jenkinson plays the pianoforte in the evenings, but more often than not, the ladies retire early.”
Elizabeth remembered playing for Mr Darcy in Hertfordshire. At the time, she had unwittingly thought his intense observation was a desire to examine her inaccurate performance. She had imagined him congratulating himself with each missed key. How her motivations had altered! Today she sought out the self-same scrutiny—but she knew better of it. His attentiveness had not changed, but her interpretation of his fixation had been utterly transformed.
Mr Darcy brought her back to the present, asking, “And how do you spend your days while here in Kent?”
“Mrs Collins and I are often together throughout the day. In the evenings, Mr Collins is on a quest to save my soul, sir. I, his only pupil, sit for a lengthy lesson each evening.”
He thought her merely teasing at first, but she assured him that the lessons were a requirement of her stay. That he was appalled by her forced schooling confirmed her own affronted feelings.
“The religious studies are an effort on my cousin’s part to exact repentance for the misdeed I mentioned before.”
She could tell he wanted to know more, but she was not sure how to tell him without insulting his aunt. If she had written enthusiastically about the number of chimneys and windows at Rosings in her letter to her father, she would not be in this position.
“Your cousin’s behaviour is a disgraceful presumption! Have you written to your father to tell him of this treatment? I cannot think he should suffer it.”
After a moment of pained hesitation, she confessed, “Mr Collins came across a letter I was writing to my father containing a subject of which he did not approve. This was my misdeed, and if the truth must be known, I cannot deny that I wrote that which offended him. How he came to be in possession of my private correspondence, I know not—not through any honourable means, of that I am sure. Nevertheless, his wrong does not make my error right, and I shall not attempt to write to my father again.”
When Elizabeth looked at her companion, she was amazed and a bit fearful of the thunderous hues which had arisen on his brow. “Miss Bennet, that is frankly an unpardonable presumption on the part of Mr Collins. He had no business seeing your private correspondence.” He stopped and paced a bit, obviously irritated by the new intelligence from the parsonage. “I could send your letter to your father. No one would question any letter I asked to be posted. ”
“That is very generous, but I believe unnecessary. Charlotte has made an offer to help should I desire to write home. Just last week, we were discreet, and I was able to send a letter to Jane in London. Besides, I shall be leaving Kent in just over a fortnight. I am certain if I sent a letter to my father now, I should be home before he brought himself to respond. I am sure I can tolerate Mr Collins and his strictures for that long.”
Mr Darcy did not like this reply. She found herself rather flattered by his clenched fists and stony glare. But he eventually replied with a nod and offered his arm to continue walking.
They meandered in silence for some time before Mr Darcy finally said, “I know you are not within my care; however, I hope you will oblige me by telling me, at any time, if you are in need of my assistance.”
She blushed at the thought. “Thank you. I promise I shall.”
Darcy was yet unsure of his intentions towards Miss Elizabeth, but he was persuaded he would protect her as a friend, particularly against the likes of Collins.
Instead of visiting the stables for a lengthy, exertive ride, he turned his steps to the house. Upon entering, the butler took his hat and gloves, and he walked into the smaller dining room to break his fast. Food had already been laid out, even though he was doubtful he would find anyone else in the house had yet arisen.
After filling a plate and accepting the offer of coffee and a newspaper, he sat down to eat. Unfortunately, his anger had taken root, and he found the food could not tempt him. Even the newspaper failed to hold his attention. The coffee, he owned, was welcome, for he always enjoyed a hot beverage in the morning. Beyond that, there was little to satisfy his frustration.
Hearing the click of the door opening, he turned, surprised to see Anne enter. Anne was all that was meek and good. She was a reliable friend, but a fragile person. She could offer listening ears and a weak smile, but little else. She was a welcome distraction on this particular morning, for she offered no offence, no advice, and no conversation.
Darcy considered the long-standing demand from his aunt to marry Anne. Her wishes were never going to come to fruition, even if she would not cease telling others of their inevitability. His aunt’s interference was abhorrent, but Darcy worried about how it affected Anne. They had decided between themselves not to wed many years before, yet he felt guilty for letting her continue in this state of waiting due to his reluctance to inform her mother of such.
Until he married or explicitly rejected his cousin, she would be kept at Rosings. How he wished he might take her away and introduce her to more society! She deserved more than this small, suffocating life. She could have had a Season in town and been introduced to many eligible suitors. No doubt her entrance into society would have been welcome, for she possessed a kind soul and enjoyed a sizable fortune, to say nothing of her property.
His mind wandered to Miss Elizabeth. What would Anne think of that choice? While he had spent many months questioning whether she was worthy of his attention, he could not help now wondering whether he was worthy of her —her resilience, her wit—so clever and full of life. Even with her poor connexions and lack of fortune, she was the only woman he had ever pictured as Mrs Darcy .
Anne interrupted his thoughts with a quiet enquiry, “Cousin, I am impatient to drive my phaeton. Shall we take a drive today? I am eager for time out of doors. The weather has been quite comfortable this last week.”
“Fitzwilliam has examined the phaeton. He took it on a drive yesterday, so I do not believe we should delay.”
“I have always envied the ladies in London who drive. Mother says I should have been a celebrated horsewoman had I ever learnt to ride,” she said quietly, with a slight hint of humour in her voice.
“No doubt she did,” he said with a low, quiet chuckle. Speaking carefully, he added, “I believe Miss Bennet enjoys outdoor pursuits as well. Should we invite her to join us for a lesson?”
“Miss Bennet would be a lovely addition to our party. Shall I send her a note?”
“Pray, do.”
Charlotte Collins sat quietly, watching her husband pace about her bedchamber. First to the bed and then to the chair, then to the window and back to the bed again. He was incapable of sitting still, the source of his dismay being the fact that he had missed their many visitors the day prior.
Despite her husband’s obvious frenzy, Charlotte remained calm, offering practical answers in sedate accents.
“First, my dear, we were visited by a Mrs Jacobson, whom I became acquainted with during our recent shopping excursion. She is a gentlewoman of some means and brought with her two friends to call on us, a Mrs Summers and a Mrs Oliver.”
“And has Lady Catherine heard of these ladies? ”
“I am certain that Lady Catherine is familiar with all the gentry in the area. Besides the ladies, her nephews were our other morning callers. The visit, I am convinced, would not have transpired had not her ladyship sanctioned it herself. I am sure you are honoured by their condescension, my dear.”
Charlotte, motivated by peace and a sense of control (even if a false sense of it), attempted to steer her husband’s mood in a more positive direction. Even the wide berth she gave him every day would not protect her from his interference if their servants were making reports to him of her activities while he was away.
Her husband was motivated not by peace, but by approval. While he nodded along with her counsel, his uncertainty prevailed. “Lady Catherine, in all her splendour and generosity, has made it clear to me that it is my responsibility to ensure you are properly trained to host guests. She has concerns about your father’s fortune being acquired in trade, and of course, she is always correct and so thoughtful to offer her help.”
“My father was knighted. I am sure Lady Catherine cannot find him or his manners offensive.” Charlotte bit her tongue, knowing to say more would be unwise. Unable to help herself, she added, “I can also assure you, my dear, that I am perfectly capable of managing this home and hosting guests.”
“Perfectly capable? How am I to know that or reassure her ladyship if I have had so few opportunities to observe you?”
Observe me? “My mother has counselled me in the ways of the gently-bred, and I am sure you do not intend to insult her teachings.”
Her husband drew up, attempting to mollify, even as he debased her further. “Lady Catherine believes you may one day be a capable hostess, but nowise does she think you ready now for guests beyond those from Rosings Park. Your excellent mother notwithstanding, the society of Meryton could hardly have prepared you for nobler visitors.”
And now I need permission to meet friends ? Charlotte’s skin fairly prickled with rage. She was a woman of seven-and-twenty and had been capable of entertaining callers for above a decade now. If anyone needed lessons in hospitality, it was her husband who she had found reading a letter from Jane addressed to Elizabeth a week prior!
“If you have no faith in my capabilities as a wife, pray tell me why you asked me for my hand in marriage.” Charlotte heard the peevishness in her own tone.
“I could not return to her ladyship without an impending marriage! I went to Hertfordshire because she decreed I should visit and bring back a wife. After my humiliation was delivered by my wicked cousin, there were a mere five days at my disposal before my scheduled return to Kent.”
He took her hand, “I thank God you were in such desperate need of a husband, for I had no other ready choices in the county.”
Charlotte stood agape. She had always known her husband made a hasty decision when he proposed marriage, but she had unreasonably hoped it was performed with good intention. She had never expected love, but respect, even a little admiration, might have been nice. But no. It was merely her availability that drew him. Her availability to suit the whims of his patroness, it appeared.
There was nothing more to say. She simply nodded and averted her eyes.
“We shall turn away callers unless I am home to supervise you, my dear,” he said while patting her hand and smiling at her in a belittling manner. She imagined herself a pitiable creature.
The following morning found Elizabeth trapped in the parlour with Charlotte for many more hours than she found pleasant. A dense fog had laid itself across the area, stifling her ability to walk out and, it appeared, also settling a gloom about the home. Charlotte had a vacant look in her eyes and her movements were slow.
Elizabeth held up the small infant’s gown she had been sewing in triumph. It was not her best work, but she was proud to add it to the pile of completed items. “Charlotte, I think we need a break. Let us take a short walk. I shall not drag you far in this weather. Perhaps a turn about the garden? Please say yes.”
Elizabeth looked at her expectantly and found her friend staring off into the distance, her needle suspended in the air as if frozen in time. “Charlotte?” she asked a bit louder.
Charlotte shook off her distraction and responded, “Pardon?”
“I wondered if you might take the air with me for a time?”
“Oh,” she looked around the room before responding in dull tones, “I do not know. I shall ask Mr Collins.”
“Pray, do not, Charlotte. It was merely a suggestion. Perhaps another day,” Elizabeth offered quickly and followed with a warm smile for her friend. She would rather commence sewing another item than to request her cousin’s permission.
Charlotte nodded her approval and began her sewing once again .
A loud commotion brought them both to their feet as Mr Collins sprang into the parlour, barely catching his breath. Elizabeth steeled herself for another possible confrontation but was relieved to see a glow of elation on his face.
“My dear Mrs Collins, come see! A note has arrived by footman from Rosings. I wonder at its contents!” His eagerness surpassed even the notion of opening the missive, so excited was he.
He tore open the note and skimmed the words within, his enthusiasm fading into a surprised grunt. “Cousin Elizabeth has been invited by Miss de Bourgh to ride in her new phaeton on Saturday morning at ten o’clock. She will be accompanied by one of her cousins.”
“How have you managed this, Eliza?” Charlotte asked coldly, but quickly adjusted to a false smile. “I had no notion that you and Miss de Bourgh had taken an interest in one another.”
Elizabeth looked back and forth between the two of them, unsure how to respond, as she too was surprised by the invitation. A note from Miss de Bourgh? It was shocking. Theirs was a passing acquaintance, nothing more.
Mr Collins hurried to offer his opinion. “I am certain Miss Elizabeth has met Miss de Bourgh on a number of occasions—dining at Rosings and at the Sunday services.” He was frantically nodding as if to convince himself of the possibility. “You will not be insensible to the honour, I am sure. Lady Catherine herself must have sanctioned this outing. How fortunate you are!”
Though her cousin’s words were eager, his tone and narrowed eyes held suspicion. Clearly he considered these ill-gotten gains. Elizabeth was unsure how to answer him. A look to her friend did not help; Charlotte’s false smile made her feel ill. “Yes, well, this is a surprise. I am pleased and quite honoured by the gesture.”
“Please do mind your manners and remember your place,” Mr Collins scolded. “This condescension is quite extraordinary.”
He asked Charlotte to pen a quick response in the affirmative to send with the waiting footman. Taking the note with him out of the parlour, she heard him repeat, “Extraordinary.”
Extraordinary, indeed! Elizabeth was excited for the planned activity and knew which cousin would undoubtedly be accompanying Miss de Bourgh.