Chapter 22 #2
Rosings was the de Bourgh estate in Kent, Elizabeth recalled.
As for the rest of what the woman had said, she was confused and taken aback.
It sounded as though she was saying that her daughter was going to marry Mr Darcy.
But that was ludicrous! Her eyes were on him at once.
He was regarding her, his steady expression showing—what?
Concern, perhaps, or apprehension, or maybe resignation most of all.
It was as well that she was seated, because she experienced such a wave of light-headedness that she doubted her legs would support her.
She was aware that people about her were speaking, but she did not hear what they said.
All her effort was given to recovering and maintaining her composure.
It was not possible that Mr Darcy—the gentleman she had begun to think of as hers—was going to marry another lady!
The memory of overhearing him and Viscount Bramwell speaking of marriage the morning they first met came to mind, but she thrust it away.
It was so long ago, and she had surely misunderstood—after all, she had heard only a fragment of their conversation—and she was certain he cared for her.
These past weeks, his behaviour has shown me as much.
I have come to know him so much better, and the man I know would never hold such arrogant views!
In short, he would not dismiss her as a possible wife just because of her situation in life.
Some moments later, and evidently noticing her distraction, Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “I suspected the meal would feel twice as long as it should be with my aunt here. It will be over soon, Miss Bennet. My mother will want to go into the drawing room where it might be possible to better distract her.”
Fortunately, he was correct, and soon the countess gave the signal that the ladies should withdraw. Elizabeth excused herself for nearly a quarter of an hour—long enough for Mrs Ryde to send a maid to enquire if she needed assistance. Joining the ladies, Elizabeth went to her.
“I am well, although I feared a headache was about to catch me in its grip. A few minutes of quiet helped,” she said with more humour than she felt.
“Lady Catherine’s voice has that effect on everyone,” Mrs Ryde whispered. “I have sometimes speculated that it is the source of her daughter’s ill health.”
She chuckled, and Elizabeth managed to do likewise, acting suitably shocked by the statement despite privately agreeing that she would feel poorly if she had to listen to the woman daily.
Her own mother tended to be silly and complain excessively, which could be irritating at times, but she was also kind and loved her daughters dearly.
After meeting Lady Catherine, Elizabeth vowed to never find fault in her mother again.
Over the next while, Elizabeth spoke to Rebecca, who said, “Lord Bramwell told me yesterday that Lady Catherine had learnt of his…interest in me, and she is far from pleased. Mama says she expected nothing less, but it is not to her to approve or disapprove, and he claims he would never let his aunt influence his decisions.” She shrugged.
“Are you worried that her coming will make a difference?” Elizabeth asked.
Rebecca regarded her steadily for a long moment before saying, “A month ago, I would have leapt at the possibility, hoping it would rid me of his company and whatever game he was playing. You will not have forgot that I was convinced he was not serious.” Elizabeth nodded, and her friend went on.
“But now, my feelings have changed, as surprised by that as I am. I do not know that I am necessarily worried she will make trouble for us, but she does cause everyone to be…less content than we were when she was not here. More irritable too. I doubt there is a single person here, apart from her, perhaps, who does not anticipate the evening ending, which is such a shame. Poor Georgiana! If I am concerned about anything, it is Darcy. Lady Catherine has always wanted him to marry her daughter, and from what I have been told, Lady Anne—his mother—considered it an excellent match. His father might have as well. From a prudent standpoint, it is, but I am not convinced he would be happy. I find I am considering happiness in marriage more than I did previously. Besides, I had thought he was considering another lady.”
Elizabeth averted her gaze, unwilling to admit she understood what Rebecca meant.
Was it possible she had completely mistaken Mr Darcy’s manner towards her these last weeks?
Had he only been attempting to make up for how he had dismissed her when they were in Ireland and seeking out pleasant conversation when they happened to be together with no thought of gaining her affections?
Would he marry the lady his parents had favoured, that his aunt wanted him to?
As discourteous as Lady Catherine was, she was his aunt, and an honourable gentleman such as Mr Darcy would treat her with respect, possibly going so far as seeking to please her.
She swallowed to clear the lump that had formed in her throat and forced herself to smile.
“Marrying for love is always preferable, in my opinion. Do you think the viscount will propose soon?” If she could, she would keep the subject away from Mr Darcy.
She did not know what to think, and desperately wanted to contain the ugly mix of emotions swirling within her; she could not let it escape until she was safely alone.
Mr Darcy will surely speak to me once the gentlemen come in.
I must hold onto the hope that he will say something to alleviate my fears!
In response to her question, Rebecca confided that, “He has hinted that he would like to, I believe to discover if I am prepared to accept.”
“Are you?”
Rebecca blushed. “I shall be soon. I think. But I would like it to be when certain people are no longer here so that there is nothing to distract us from rejoicing.”
Just then, and after having spoken to Lady Catherine for several minutes, Lady Romsley suggested they open the pianoforte. Miss Darcy, who had been with both ladies—Lady Catherine keeping a firm grip on her arm to prevent her escape—expressed a wish to play.
“I-I have lately learnt a new piece by Pleyel I believe you will like,” she said.
By unspoken agreement, they continued with music as long as possible. Rebecca played, as did Elizabeth, and even Mrs Darcy and Mrs Ryde performed, the former playing the instrument and the latter singing several songs.
At last, the door opened, and Elizabeth, her heart beginning to race, eagerly sought Mr Darcy’s tall figure.