Chapter 9 The Rosings Ramble
The Rosings Ramble
More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly meet Mr Darcy.
In truth, it was not the least bit unexpected.
She told him where she preferred to walk, and he appeared three days out of four.
Either he was seeking her company deliberately or he was even more obtuse than Mr Collins.
She still had no idea if he and the colonel genuinely liked her in some fashion, or if she was merely the best of a bad lot regarding company.
Surpassing Lady Catherine in amiability would not win her any accolades, but it was something.
He was his usual tongue-tied self when they met, but after they walked a bit, and she encouraged him a little, he usually managed to do well enough.
She enjoyed speaking with him very much once he warmed up.
He was one of the few men who seemed to respect her intellect, took her opinions seriously, never talked to her like a simpleton, and never looked like he was tempted to pat her on the head like a puppy.
He obviously had a better education, but she thought she could hold her own well enough.
It struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions–about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr and Mrs Collins’s happiness; and that in speaking of Rosings and her not perfectly understanding the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she would be staying there too.
She thought it entirely unlikely but did not much feel like arguing the point.
If he were implying the colonel had a tendre for her, it would be weeks or months before she saw any evidence of it.
So far, the colonel mostly reminded her of an eager spaniel taking advantage of his agreeableness.
Since he was asking such odd questions, she replied with a few of her own, mostly hinting of anything of note that may have occurred in London. Several oblique hints did not suffice, so she finally asked him directly how his winter in London had passed.
It seemed that either nothing of particular note had occurred, or he was not willing to be explicit. They returned to the parsonage, both dissatisfied with the encounter.
The next day she was walking in the usual place, but instead of Mr Darcy, she saw on looking up that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her.
"I did not know before that you ever walked this way."
"I have been making the tour of the park, as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?"
"No, I should have turned in a moment."
They did turn and wander slowly back to the parsonage.
Through some clever questions, she eventually learned that he had no intentions whatsoever—unless she had fifty thousand pounds hidden away—and Miss Darcy had probably done something imprudent the previous summer, which might explain her brother’s churlishness at the assembly.
Before they parted, she casually asked about Mr Wickham, and learned the not-shocking intelligence that he was a scoundrel of the worst order.
When the colonel learned the man was in the militia, he grinned like a stalking panther, took out a small pocketbook, and wrote down the town, the corps, and the colonel’s name. She had no idea what he was going to do, but suspected Mr Wickham would have cause to regret it.