Part 2
March came, bringing milder weather and increasing vitality to London, but it brought little change to the state of Darcy’s heart and mind.
More than three months since he last had seen her, Elizabeth’s image was still clear in his head, tormenting him, and the longing was painful.
The only difference was that he had learnt to live with the sorrow and had become proficient at disguising his feelings.
Instead of refusing invitations to dinners or parties, causing endless arguments with his uncle the earl and, especially, with his aunt, he began to attend.
Fortunately for him, such events were rather rare, as most families of consequence had not arrived in London so far.
Despite Parliament having been in session since the seventh of January, the Season had yet to begin.
Being among people only reminded him how unbearable his sense of loneliness was.
Also, he was still bothered by guilt, as he had found no opportunity to speak to Bingley.
His friend had left town to visit another acquaintance at his country estate and was not expected to return until mid-April.
The benefit of Bingley’s absence was that it brought Darcy relief from the presence of Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst. He had always found those ladies particularly trying, but their contempt for the Bennet family had recently made their company truly unbearable.
Darcy knew Miss Jane Bennet was still in London, as he—moved by the same inexplicable impulse as before—had observed the Gardiners’ house several more times.
He had never left his carriage, never revealed his presence, and often wondered what he was doing there.
His behaviour was puzzling even to himself, as was everything remotely connected to Elizabeth.
He never acted like his usual self when it came to her.
Easter was approaching, and Darcy anticipated it with equal measures of pleasure and vexation.
It was the time of his annual visit to his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh.
He had visited his relations at their estate of Rosings Park in Kent every Easter since he was a young boy, together with his two Fitzwilliam cousins, Richard and his elder brother, the viscount.
Since the viscount had married, Darcy and the now Colonel Fitzwilliam carried on the tradition.
They were both fond of Anne and felt pity and concern for her.
They agreed with the colonel’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Matlock, that being kept at Rosings, away from society and people of her own age with only Lady Catherine’s demanding and stifling company, was not beneficial for the young lady.
While he never had any intention of fulfilling his imperious aunt’s absurd demands that he should marry Anne, Darcy cared deeply for his cousin and would do anything to protect her and assure her welfare.
Anything except marry her. Especially now that he had met Elizabeth and tasted love.
Marrying his cousin for convenience would be torture for both him and Anne.
Perhaps he deserved it, but she certainly did not.
Darcy kept up a regular correspondence with Lady Catherine, so when he received a letter from her a week before his planned visit, he was not surprised.
However, its contents blew away any little peace and comfort he had achieved over the last few weeks and threw him back into a whirlpool of unbearable sentiments.
I look forward to your visit with pleasure, Darcy.
You should know that your presence brings us the utmost joy, and both Anne and I eagerly anticipate it every year.
I still hope that you will soon become even closer to our family, as we have all planned and wished for since you and Anne were infants.
I must warn you that there have been some changes at Rosings this year, but I shall take measures to ensure that you are not disturbed.
My clergyman, Mr Collins, who proclaims he made your acquaintance in Hertfordshire, has married recently, and his wife has received a visit from her sister and a friend—a certain Miss Elizabeth Bennet, seemingly the daughter of an insignificant country gentleman, whose small estate is entailed on Mr Collins.
While I approve of Mrs Collins, formerly Miss Charlotte Lucas—who I believe is also known to you—my feelings towards her friend are quite the opposite.
She is bolder, less demure, less obedient, and too determined to express her opinions for a young lady, which is no wonder considering she never had a governess.
I understand from Mr Collins that you are acquainted with this Miss Bennet too and once refused publicly to dance with her. Of course, this is testament to your upbringing and yet further proof of your discernment. You must not concern yourself; I shall not allow her to impose upon you.
Come quickly. You are dearly missed, and we count the days until your arrival.
Your beloved aunt.
Darcy stared at the paper, his hands trembling, struggling to absorb everything he had read.
Elizabeth was in Kent? His head was spinning, and he felt a migraine forming in his right temple.
It could not be! Fate surely could not have conjured such a farce!
He certainly could not meet her there. He would not be able to bear the exhilaration of her presence—and then the sorrow of their separation.
If she was in Kent, could that mean that she had travelled to London first?
Had he missed her? Very likely! Not that he would have altered his habit of not descending from the carriage had he seen her on Gracechurch Street.
How long would she remain in Kent? He had planned to travel to Rosings in a week.
Would he still find her there? Again, very likely.
She must have arranged to be there for Easter.
He must find out more details, then change his plans.
It was imperative he delay his journey so as to avoid an encounter.
He did not want to see her; his heart ached just imagining her face.
No, that was not true, not true at all. He did want to see her—more than anything.
But he could not. He should not. He would not!
He spent the rest of the day alone in the library, except for dinner when he joined Georgiana. It felt like there was a block of ice in his stomach that forbade him from eating. But he could drink—one glass, two glasses, three.
After the last dish, he excused himself and returned to the library. The wind was blowing, rattling the windows, and he felt the chill despite the fire burning steadily. It should have been warmer—it was mid-March. But nothing was as it should be.
He stayed in the library late into the night, long after the household quieted. Outside the window, the streets looked desolate. They matched his own spirits. He felt desolate and angry with himself for his weaknesses—too weak to forget Elizabeth yet too weak to face seeing her again.
He tried to sleep, but despite his tiredness, it evaded him. He did not know whether or for how long he had rested, but at first light he was awake and his decision already made against his character, against prudence, and against wisdom. He quickly wrote a note to his cousin.
Fitzwilliam,
There has been a sudden change of plans, and I would appreciate it if we could leave for Kent in two days’ time, if you are able to make the necessary arrangements.
I apologise for the short notice and rely upon your understanding, hoping this alteration does not interfere with any other engagements you may have.
Darcy.
~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~
Darcy had been in Kent for almost five weeks—the longest he had ever stayed at Rosings—and he had seen Elizabeth almost every single day and dreamt about her every single night.
On the day of their arrival, he and the colonel had called at the Parsonage.
As he had expected—and dreaded—all his feelings were aroused the first moment he laid eyes on Elizabeth anew.
He desperately wanted to sit near her, to speak to her, to rejoice in her presence, but the last remaining threads of his self-control forbade it.
She mentioned Miss Jane Bennet’s presence in London.
He said he had not seen her there, which was true in the meaning of not having “met” her, but his cheeks still burned, and his tongue still tied with embarrassment.
After that, he could not speak to her further, as he became the unwilling recipient of one of Mr Collins’ soliloquies.
Even worse, the colonel immediately engaged Elizabeth in conversation, and it was apparent that each became the other’s immediate favourite.
The sorrow of being so close yet still so far from her became heavier when it was burdened by jealousy, and that feeling had oppressed him every single day since their arrival.
Darcy called at the Parsonage almost daily, either with his cousin or alone.
Why he visited so often, since he barely exchanged a few words with Elizabeth, was impossible even for him to comprehend.
He also often met her alone in the park.
He discovered her favourite path and would ride there at the time he knew she would be taking her daily walk, simply for the sheer joy of seeing her alone for a few moments.
He never offered to keep her company, although he yearned for a few private minutes with her.
The colonel had no such restraint. He readily admitted his admiration for her and showed it at every opportunity.