Chapter Seven #2
Darcy noted the humorous smirk gracing his cousin’s lips.
Likely, he would question Darcy extensively when they returned to Rosings.
He would face that situation when it occurred.
For now, he would simply enjoy the smell of Miss Elizabeth’s perfume, a fragrance he had sorely missed.
And he would watch the way her lips twitched with delight when she thought no one took note of her double entendres and the glint in her eye when her cousin did something horrendously gauche.
He wished he could think of something clever to engage her in conversation, but he must simply be satisfied being in her presence.
Eventually, Elizabeth interrupted his thoughts. She said sweetly, “Come, Colonel, tell us more of you. I fear Mr. Darcy shared little of your service to King and Country or of your obviously close relationship.”
Without realizing how it happened, Darcy’s agitation increased.
He did not like the situation. Elizabeth gave her attention to someone else.
Again! Her attention to Mr. Wickham was one thing, but not to his cousin.
For years, he had played second to Edward’s affability, but Darcy would not lose Elizabeth Bennet to his cousin.
He held the longer acquaintance, and he meant to claim it.
He worked hard to appear in control as he watched his cousin engage Elizabeth with his usual readiness while Darcy made small talk with Mr. and Mrs. Collins, but, try as he may, Darcy spoke very little to anyone.
He could not stop staring at his cousin and Elizabeth.
His emotions dwelled on anger, but there was nothing over which to be angry.
Elizabeth did not belong to him. She was free to choose whomever she pleased, but he did not think he could tolerate her choosing his cousin.
She would then be a part of his family, but he would never know her sweet intimacy.
In fact, the thought of her choosing anyone other than him brought repulsion.
If Elizabeth could not be his … but he could not finish the thought.
The sound of soft laughter emanated from the corner in which Darcy watched his cousin entertain Elizabeth.
It was that delightful gurgle, the one he so enjoyed.
Wanting to be a part of what they were saying, he found himself moving towards them.
Not certain how to begin, he offered up the required pleasantries.
“May I inquire, Miss Elizabeth, as to the health of your family?”
She answered him in the usual way. “They are well, sir.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “My eldest sister has been in Town these three months. Have you happened to see her there?”
Panic filled his chest. Did she know his involvement in separating Bingley and her sister, or was she simply making conversation? Either way, her words chilled Darcy to the bone. His attempt at engaging her in conversation had diverted to his prejudice towards her connections.
He faltered, “Regrettably, Miss Elizabeth, I did not have the good fortune as to greet Miss Bennet while in London.” And as quickly as he moved to speak to her, Darcy withdrew.
He could not betray Caroline Bingley, nor could he truly explain his objection to Charles Bingley’s aligning himself with the Bennet family.
Obviously, Charles had less to lose than did Darcy, and here Darcy was heels over head for a woman far below his station in life.
Soon enough, his cousin indicated it was time to return to the great house.
Feeling the elation of his hopes draining into the hard Kent soil, Darcy set his feet in action.
They made their farewells and were well away from the cottage before Edward said, “Would you like to explain what all that was about?”
“Nothing,” Darcy grumbled. “I simply called upon former acquaintances.” As they walked the well-worn path in silence, Darcy cursed himself for becoming entangled in the unknown that was Elizabeth Bennet.
Being near her made him feel he was on trial.
Did she take such great joy in tormenting him?
He had foolishly flirted with his destiny.
He had vowed to be rid of Elizabeth, and this was to be his test. First Elizabeth and then his cousin had waited for his response.
Could they read his countenance? Decidedly brutal honesty must prevail: He could never make Elizabeth his wife, and the sooner he accepted that fact, the better.
He spent a week buried in the paperwork of his aunt’s estate. He passed his time sequestered from everyone in the household and, more importantly, in the neighborhood. Mentally exhausted, he took some pride in avoiding Elizabeth.
While Darcy was busy with the estate’s business, his cousin either drove out with Anne in the carriage or paid a call on the Parsonage.
Neither prospect appealed to Darcy. Spending time with Anne would increase Lady Catherine’s desire for a marriage proposal.
Spending time at the Parsonage would only prove his heart had its own ideas.
She is not what I require in a wife. She cannot be!
Yet, he knew he cared for Elizabeth as he had cared for no one before.
Lady Catherine oversaw Easter Sunday services as if Mr. Collins were her puppet.
Because society expected it, Lady Catherine had asked Mr. Collins’s household to Rosings for tea in the evening.
Darcy placed himself away from Elizabeth, but the distance could not prevent his attention being drawn towards her.
He had spent the last few days jealously listening to his cousin enumerate Elizabeth’s charms and desperately wanting to hear the least fragment Edward offered.
Yet, whenever Edward spoke of Elizabeth, Darcy entertained images of tossing his cousin into the nearest pigsty for his obvious interest in the woman.
Darcy summoned his habitual reserve, but, as on the first evening at the Parsonage, Elizabeth’s presence played havoc with his emotions.
He could not withdraw his eyes from her.
The colonel was obviously pleased to welcome the Collinses’ party.
Anything was a relief from Rosings’ tedium to Darcy’s cousin.
The colonel claimed that Elizabeth was the type of woman with whom a man could converse easily.
They spoke on the pleasures of Hertfordshire and of Kent, of places they had visited, and of new books and music.
Darcy wanted to hear the lady’s opinions on each of those topics.
He wanted to look deeply into her eyes and become lost in the lavender scent of her hair.
Attempting to ignore the rest of the room, Darcy concentrated on his aunt’s diversions, but Edward and Elizabeth possessed so much life; it was difficult to disregard them.
Even Lady Catherine could not withdraw her attention from her guests’ playful tones.
Darcy’s eyes strayed to where the colonel and Elizabeth sat, and he looked upon them with much curiosity.
Was Edward taken with Elizabeth? The question he considered since coming to Rosings resurfaced.
Could he lose her to his own cousin? Yet, in reality, why not to Edward?
Darcy did not want her, or so he thought.
Yet, the possibility drummed away at his sanity.
Eventually, Lady Catherine demanded to become part of Edward and Elizabeth’s exchange.
“I must have my share of the conversation if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learned, I should have been a great proficient; and so would Anne if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident she would have performed delightfully. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?”
Darcy ignored Lady Catherine’s inflated tales of Anne’s refined qualities. His aunt often told others of her daughter’s supposed accomplishments. “Georgiana attends to her lessons studiously.” Darcy waited for her reproof to his sister, but instead his aunt’s censure was directed towards Elizabeth.
It was as if Lady Catherine had heard nothing Darcy said.
She continued her scolding of Elizabeth Bennet.
“I often tell ladies that no excellence in music is to be acquired without constant practice. I have told Miss Bennet several times she will never play really well unless she practices more; and though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, Miss Bennet is very welcome to come to Rosings every day and play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room.
She would be in nobody’s way in that part of the house. ”
Darcy could not believe Lady Catherine offered Elizabeth such an example of rudeness and ill breeding.
Although he never commented on it, he often, of late, found his aunt’s continued rudeness shameful.
He was a man torn between two worlds. Like Elizabeth, he clearly had his own connections sometimes lacking in propriety, but how could he criticize his aunt without criticizing his own standards?
Did not Lady Catherine, because of her social standing, deserve some latitude in her opinions?
He knew he often erred on the side of prejudice, especially when it was someone of impeccable ancestry.
He admittedly had a value for rank and consequence, which blinded him to the faults of those who possessed them.
So, where did the answer lie? He did not know how to accept one form of impropriety and condemn the other.