Chapter 9 #3
Lady Catherine seemed resigned. “Oh—your uncle! Your mother’s brother or the brother of your aunt? Oh, well…I am very glad you have somebody who thinks of those things.”
Lady Catherine had many other questions to ask respecting their journey, and as she could not answer them all herself, attention was necessary.
Luckily, Charlotte had an important share of the conversation, pleasing Lady Catherine enough to allow Elizabeth some peace until they returned to the Parsonage.
After a quick dinner, her spirits becoming lower with every passing hour, Elizabeth was relieved to finally be alone in her room. She could not believe that only that morning she received the letter that had changed her understanding of her world, of Mr Darcy, and of herself.
As soon as she locked the door, she spread the letter on her bed again.
She was in a fair way of knowing it by heart, and yet it still did not feel enough.
She read it again, studying every sentence, and her feelings towards its writer were at times widely different.
When she thought of the style of his address, she remained full of indignation, but when she considered how unjustly she had condemned him, her anger turned against herself.
The greatest part of her disappointed feelings came from her folly in believing Mr Wickham’s lies without ever searching for proof.
Furiously, she imagined the man’s humour at her naivety and the ease with which he used her to spread his tales of woe.
He was a scoundrel who needed a foolish woman to support his schemes. And she had been that woman.
Moreover, while she thought and spoke ill of him, Mr Darcy admired her. His attachment excited gratitude; his general character, respect. Still, she could not approve him; nor could she for a moment repent her refusal or feel the slightest inclination ever to see him again.
But she had been wrong; her behaviour was a constant source of vexation and regret and she wondered whether she would ever be able to make amends.
If the night after the proposal gave her little rest, the following one was even worse. She did not cry, though. She prayed for the night to pass quickly so she could leave Kent and find comfort with her sister and aunt.
∞∞∞
The next morning found Elizabeth exhausted but more tranquil.
After much torment and little rest, she came to the conclusion that she could change nothing from the past and the only way to remedy her errors was never to repeat them.
She lacked the strength to think further of Darcy, so whenever his image appeared in her mind, she banished it.
Of Jane and Bingley, she was still heavy hearted.
She now understood that if they happened to meet, perhaps under Mr Wilson’s care, reconciliation might have been impossible—that is, until she offended the man who had the greatest influence over Mr Bingley.
If such a possibility ever existed, it was clear that Mr Darcy would do everything in his power to prevent any future connection between himself and the Bennets—even through his friend.
There was little time for regrets and sorrow, though. Their luggage needed attention, and preparations kept them busy after breakfast. Maria was equally sorry to be leaving her sister and excited about spending a few days in London with Elizabeth’s relatives.
After noon, an unexpected event interrupted them as Miss de Bourgh and her companion arrived at the gate in the phaeton. Mr Collins immediately spotted them and ran outside, followed by the ladies.
Anne refused the invitation to enter, but to everyone’s astonishment, she asked Elizabeth to take a brief stroll with her in the garden while Mrs Jenkinson accepted Charlotte’s offer for a cup of tea.
“I hope I did not interrupt you, Miss Bennet,” Anne said.
“No, not at all. I am happy to see you, Miss de Bourgh.”
“I wanted to speak to you before you departed. I am sorry you cannot stay longer.”
“Thank you. You are very kind. If your company was the only aspect to consider, I would have stayed at least another fortnight.”
Anne smiled. “It is very nice of you to say that. Rosings will be silent and less interesting once you and my cousins are away.”
“Then perhaps you could join them in Town for more excitement?” Elizabeth replied.
Anne glanced at her. “That is very unlikely—but not impossible. Richard insisted I stay with Aunt Fitzwilliam for a month.”
“And will you?”
“No, indeed. Mother would never approve,” Anne said. “Will you visit Mrs Collins again, Miss Bennet?”
“I might—if Charlotte will have me.” She smiled. “Rosings is so beautiful; I would be happy to see it again.”
“I hope so. I would be pleased to see you again, Miss Bennet.”
“Likewise, Miss de Bourgh. It was an honour and a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
The stroll and conversation were short, but Elizabeth felt many other things remained unspoken.
She knew not how to insist, and Anne seemed unwilling to speak more, so they took their farewell in front of the house.
Mrs Jenkinson quickly returned, and Mr Collins ran after the phaeton until it made the corner of the park.
Lady Catherine sent a note to wish them a good journey and invited them to come to Hunsford again next year. Mr Collins was so insistent on having his noble patroness pleased that Elizabeth was forced to promise she would return to comply with her ladyship’s request.
In the evening, a large, elegant carriage stopped in front of the Parsonage, surprising the Collinses.
It obviously belonged to Mr Wilson, Elizabeth observed.
Three men exited, presenting themselves as Mr Wilson’s staff, prepared to take the young ladies to Town.
Maria was so impressed that she forgot to breathe.
For Elizabeth, the joy of soon being with people dear to her heart overcame the sadness and distress of the last days.
She knew it was not over. She knew she would think of Mr Darcy and his proposal, as well as her unfair judgement, countless times.
But at least she would be with Jane and would find comfort and wisdom to temper her.
That night, she found a few hours of sleep, enough to wake in higher spirits, ready for their journey, and eager to trade Rosings for London.