The Parsonage
Three weeks passed in Hunsford with her enjoying her friend, tolerating her friend’s husband, ignoring her friend’s sister, and scrutinising the residents of the manor to see how well they answered her expectations.
Her first impression of Lady Catherine proved as expected, and once she realised the great lady was just Mrs Bennet with a courtesy title, she knew exactly how to manage her.
She imagined that, had she not met Mr Darcy in London, she would have considered Miss de Bourgh sickly and cross, but she eventually realised the heiress was merely shy and in thrall to an overbearing relative. In other words, she was Kitty.
She might have taken offence at Lady Catherine’s offering her the pianoforte in Mrs Jenkinson’s room, had she not realised she was offering the opportunity to come and go as she pleased, and more importantly, a chance to spend a few hours somewhere Mr Collins would not enter even at sword-point, which had much to recommend it.
When the grand lady seemed displeased that they already knew Mr Darcy, she did not attach much significance to it. Rosings was rather a dull place, and she thought it simple disappointment that she would be denied the pleasure of introducing a young lady to her nephews.
During her second week, she had a letter that shocked her just about as much as the one she forwarded to Mr Darcy likely shocked him.
Mr Wickham so vile! Mr Wickham, in whom she had placed so much trust was a lying cheating knave.
He was so bad as to make Mr Bingley seem admirable!
What Mr Darcy said at the ball in November was entirely true.
He could make friends but was less likely to keep them.
Of course, when she learned a few days later through a letter from Sir William to Charlotte, that some mysterious anonymous donor had discharged all of Mr Wickham’s debts in Meryton, she knew there was only one possibility.
For Mr Wickham, the resentment was indeed implacable, but it remained to be seen in her case if his good opinion was lost forever.
The letter forced her to review her entire acquaintance.
For certain he had slighted her at that first assembly, and in fact, he said about as much about her looks as her mother did before breakfast every day.
Hearsay suggested he said other unkind things that first week or so in the presence of servants, so that was against him.
Nevertheless, he had borne Sir William’s ambush at Lucas Lodge well and had been even complimentary during her visit to Netherfield.
He had asked her to dance thrice to be rewarded with one, and she had been the instigator that time.
Examining the rest of her family’s behaviour that evening, she was not entirely certain his defection had not been the mark of a sensible man.
At times, she idly wondered how Mr Darcy would have spoken or acted if she had not been such an addlepated silly cow.
She could have requested her father to ask Mr Darcy calmly about Mr Wickham, and the entire mystery could have been resolved months earlier.
She could even have asked him in a less hostile tone of voice during their dance, and he would likely have answered calmly and rationally.
Feeling she had been entirely silly, she awaited the man’s visit with some trepidation, but mostly curiosity. She had repaid his early disdain with some quite hurtful words of her own, and she wondered exactly how much implacable resentment she had incurred.
Late at night, under the cover of darkness, with her head covered with a pillow after she examined the room thrice for spies, she occasionally thought that every rule had an exception. Perhaps in her case, forever might be reduced to a few years.
Perhaps, she could be friends with the gentleman. She actually rather liked the idea of having a male friend she knew would never court her. It seemed a handy sort of thing to have.
"I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr Darcy would never have come so soon to wait upon me."
Elizabeth had scarcely time to disclaim all right to the compliment, before their approach was announced by the door-bell, and shortly afterwards the three gentlemen entered the room.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who led the way, was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and address most truly the gentleman.
Naturally, that made Elizabeth suspicious of him from the first since he reminded her so much of Mr Wickham or Mr Bingley. He even had the same accent as Wickham, which nearly made her flesh creep (though the rule did not seem to apply to Mr Darcy, curiously).
Mr Darcy looked as grave and stoic as usual, but Elizabeth found it oddly comforting.
He did not seem to think any more or less of her for having engineered Miss Bingley’s downfall, and that was to his credit.
He also did not seem to hold her last rather unpleasant criticism against her; unless one considered ignoring her clearly stated intentions, of course.
Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man, and talked very pleasantly. Ordinarily, Elizabeth might have enjoyed the conversation as it was lively and informed, but she was troubled by two things.
The first was an unfortunate reminder of the two previous amiable-seeming men she had met, and while she was not ready to abandon amiable men entirely, she still regarded them with suspicion, especially when they seemed more gallant than the situation warranted.
Witnessing Jane being exposed to endless flirting had given her a distaste for the experience.
The second issue was that Mr Darcy could not get a word in edgeways.
He was not a voluble man at the best of times, and a room with both the colonel and Mr Collins hardly qualified as an ideal conversational situation.
She was polite to the colonel but interested in his cousin—without much to show for it.
As far as she could tell, the man did not seem to resent their last exchange, and he had previously disclaimed any offence for sending Miss Bingley’s letter.
The time for a polite visit passed, and the gentlemen eventually rose to depart with naught to show for it.
Elizabeth walked with them to retrieve their coats, and as the men prepared to depart, she made a sally.
“Good day, gentlemen. Colonel, it was pleasant to meet you. Mr Darcy, I am pleased to see you again.”
It was the most innocuous refutation to her last statement she could make without sounding sillier than Lydia, and she hoped he would see it as an olive branch (not a Collins-like olive branch, obviously).
She was slightly startled when his face brightened into quite a pleasant smile, which made him look far handsomer than any casual acquaintance had a right to be.
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” he said, and she wondered if he meant it. Such an idea was difficult to comprehend, but at least their enmity seemed to be at an end, much to her relief.
The colonel found himself the victim of Mr Collins’s adieus, so Darcy and Elizabeth moved aside a few paces so they could converse quietly with none the wiser (except Charlotte, of course).
“Do you find the paths to your liking, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Assuredly, I do. I have lately been enjoying the one that leads to the small pond. It is very quiet and restful, so I walk there most days after breakfast.”
“It has much to recommend it,” he said, but was prevented from saying more as the colonel seemed bent on retreat at all costs.
The gentlemen bowed politely and left while Charlotte effected an escape from her husband to her private parlour.
Once seated inside, she asked, “Are you still keen to disclaim all right to the compliment, Eliza?”
Elizabeth looked thoughtful but there was little point in prevaricating. “Mr Darcy and I have had an… eventful… acquaintance. It is better now than it was, but how good it will become remains to be seen. It seems remotely possible we might be friends.”
“Would you welcome his friendship? I must say that seems quite a marked change from the autumn.”
“More change than even Jane is aware of. We were at odds in the autumn, and even worse in the spring. How the summer unfolds remains to be seen.”
“We shall just wait and see. Do try not to provoke Lady Catherine too awfully much,” Charlotte said half-seriously.
“Why not ask me not to provoke her at all?”
“That, my dear, cannot be done.”
Elizabeth thought that a sad state of affairs for her friend, but not exactly a crisis. Charlotte knew what she was getting into, she was content and had a good chance of more happiness than many of the matrons they knew. She did not repine her position, nor would Elizabeth.
By mutual agreement, they moved their discussion to other matters, and eventually just settled in to read and work in contentment.
They had both learned through many years of experience that there was no benefit to picking over the bones of a discussion once everything had been said.
That wisdom had, unfortunately, escaped both their mothers—hence the source of the lesson.