Chapter 9
“That was an excellent evening,” Elizabeth said, glancing at Charlotte while taking Maria familiarly by the arm.
They were returning from dinner at Rosings.
No sooner had she uttered those words than Mr Collins sprang forwards, obviously wanting to walk alone, unwilling to partake in the conversation.
“Excellent, indeed!” Maria exclaimed, delighted at having attended such a distinguished dinner. From her perspective, nothing unusual had occurred; she had seen Lady Catherine on several occasions and found her always the same: rather ill-tempered and exceedingly talkative.
Yet Charlotte’s silence told another story.
Something had displeased the Collinses—meaning Mr Collins and, out of sympathy, his wife.
Elizabeth suspected the cause but had found the evening too lively to allow the displeasure of the two to cloud her spirits.
Thus, she resolved to feign ignorance and remarked lightly to Charlotte, “Miss de Bourgh is charming and very elegant. Not at all as you described her.”
“Lizzy!” Charlotte cried, glancing back towards the house as if fearful that someone might overhear, though they had already walked a considerable distance.
“Charlotte,” Elizabeth replied with a laugh. “I merely said I was impressed by her. Perhaps her shyness is as you described, but such a thing may lessen once she realises she is admired and valued—which, I daresay, has never happened before.”
“For heaven’s sake, Elizabeth, I beg you, do not speak so,” Charlotte implored.
Suddenly, Elizabeth saw that what had seemed to her an amusing and intriguing evening had been nothing short of a torment for Charlotte.
Yet, there was nothing she could do for her friend, who was now wholly confined within the anxieties and opinions of her husband regarding Lady Catherine and her entourage.
“But she did nothing inappropriate,” Maria interjected.
“You laughed all evening with Mr Darcy!” Charlotte reproached, and Elizabeth barely restrained herself from laughing anew. Even the mere fact that she had enjoyed herself seemed an affront to the Collinses. But most of all, it was the appearance of being on good terms with Mr Darcy that rankled.
“I beg you, do not exaggerate,” Elizabeth finally replied.
“Before this dinner, you despised him,” Charlotte whispered, once more casting a cautious glance behind her, revealing just how anxious she was not to offend anyone at Rosings.
“Until now, Mr Darcy has behaved with notable arrogance towards me and towards our neighbours in Hertfordshire. But tonight, he was gracious and exceedingly kind to everyone. Even to you, if I recall correctly.”
Indeed, at one point, Mr Darcy had congratulated Charlotte on her marriage, wishing her happiness with the ease of an old acquaintance.
“I do not understand why you are so anxious,” said Maria, who at last seemed to have interpreted her sister’s mood correctly.
“I am anxious because we live here. Lizzy will stay for a time and then leave, but if, in the meantime, she damages our ties with Lady Catherine, we shall suffer for it.”
Elizabeth listened without interrupting, though, at that moment, she wished to tell Charlotte that their own friendship seemed to have deteriorated, yet Charlotte did not seem nearly as distressed by that.
“You exaggerate, and I am sorry that you do. Mr Darcy, as Lady Catherine’s nephew, has every right to conduct himself as he sees fit.
I have no influence over his behaviour. I did not utter a single word that could have offended Lady Catherine.
I remained silent when she commanded me, as though I were a servant, to play, and after I played, she seemed rather pleased.
If anything, I have strengthened your bond with Lady Catherine and her family.
“You ought to thank me,” she added with a touch of sarcasm, though Charlotte seemed beyond noticing such nuances. But Elizabeth then softened her tone. “As long as Lady Catherine is satisfied with you, there is nothing to reproach me for.”
Elizabeth looked at her friend with regret.
They would have laughed together over all that had transpired only a few months prior.
But now, all Charlotte wished for was to preserve their standing with Lady Catherine.
One thing was certain—the mistress of Rosings could not look kindly upon any friendship between Mr Darcy, the supposed suitor of her daughter, and any other young woman in his company.
But that was of no concern to Elizabeth.
Every other evening, upon their return from dinner, they had lingered a few minutes in the drawing-room to converse. But, on this night, Mr Collins went directly to his chamber, and Charlotte followed him.
On the verge of retiring herself, Elizabeth heard Maria’s voice, sounding strangely akin to Charlotte’s, “Stay a while, I beg you.”
Elizabeth sat on the sofa, smiling at the girl she had seen almost every day yet never honestly noticed.
“I feel sorry for Charlotte,” Maria murmured, gazing at Elizabeth with an expression that, too, reminded her of Charlotte. She had never before realised just how much they resembled one another.
But Elizabeth did not fully grasp what sorrow Maria was expressing.
“For tonight?” she asked.
“Yes, for tonight…but in general too. She has changed. The strange thing is, she treats me far more warmly here than she did at home, yet with you, she is…”
But Maria, ever sensitive, left her thought unfinished.
“It is well, Maria. I am glad you are close. Charlotte needs a friend.”
“But why is she behaving so differently with you?” Maria asked, distressed.
“Because, as she said, I sometimes speak too freely, and she and Mr Collins have no desire for conflicts with Rosings.”
“Mr Darcy did not seem to wish for any conflict with you,” Maria said with unexpected sweetness.
Elizabeth regarded her as though seeing her for the first time.
She had always been close to Charlotte and Jane, deliberately avoiding too much engagement with their younger sisters.
Maria must be nineteen, much the same age as herself.
Yet, they had always considered her too young to participate in discussions.
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, now genuinely curious.
“Goodness, Lizzy, he noticed no one else all evening but you!”
In earlier times, such a remark from Maria would have passed unnoticed, but their relationship had altered significantly. Elizabeth was beginning to discover in her a young woman of wit and, it seemed, a keen sense of observation.
She smiled at her words but did not dismiss them, for she, too, had found Mr Darcy to be more than merely polite towards her. And since she needed someone to confide in, she wrote a long letter to her aunt, filled with questions.
She recounted the unexpected evening and Maria’s observation in faithful detail, which she had yet to interpret with certainty. Could such an arrogant man genuinely be interested in her? The question was repeated in her letter in various forms, for it had occupied her thoughts all evening.
Do you believe, dear aunt, that in allowing myself this curiosity, I betray those I left behind in Hertfordshire, the same people Mr Darcy so openly disdained throughout his visit?
I have always prided myself on my loyalty, and just as you wish to remain unaltered in certain aspects of your nature, so too would I preserve those qualities of mine.
Though, as my ever-sarcastic father would say, they are not many.
But if Mr Darcy has changed, if he has softened his pride, tempered his arrogance, and now regards those around him in an entirely different manner, I might undoubtedly allow myself to see him in a different light and accept his admiration.
Of course, there remains the matter of Mr Wickham, the appalling manner in which he was treated, denied the rights old Mr Darcy had intended for him.
Yet that is a family affair where I have no real place.
Lady Catherine spent the entire evening striving to persuade everyone that Mr Darcy was engaged to her daughter, proclaiming an arrangement had existed between her late sister, Lady Anne, and herself since their children were young.
However, she alone believes this to be true.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, their cousin and the brother-in-law of your friend Lady Oakham, stated quite plainly that they were not engaged, and the matter was thus settled.
Though I doubt Lady Catherine will cease to persist.
Miss de Bourgh is indeed a young lady of refined manners and elegance, yet she struck me as so exceedingly timid that she even surpasses Jane in reserve.
As for the rest? What can I say? I enjoyed the evening. I took pleasure in Mr Darcy’s company and appreciated the playful undercurrent of our conversation. And I must admit that if my playing was admired, it was due in no small part to my excellent spirits.
Knowing this gentleman as I do, I find it difficult to believe he will continue in the same manner. Even last autumn there were these fluctuations, this wavering between admiration and indifference, that I could explain in no other way than as the whims of a proud and capricious nature.
And now, I know the question that must follow: What do I feel?
Dearest aunt, it is impossible for me to say.
Still, I would be dishonest were I not to admit that I spent a delightful evening and took pleasure in being the focus of attention for a man who is intelligent, witty, and, lest we forget, both handsome and elegant.
It is, no doubt, a frivolous fancy. But after all, what would our lives be if we were not, on occasion, a little superficial?