Chapter 22 #2
He sounded even more contrite. “Tell me how to restore what I may of your equilibrium. It sounds like I am due a kick or two, so feel free. It will be no less than I deserve. If a scolding is more to your liking, I will listen. If you prefer, I will walk away and never mention it again. I am at your service and your direction. Just tell me how to proceed.”
Somewhat calmed by his obvious contrition, Elizabeth asked, “Am I witnessing the fruits of the younger son’s training?”
“When the heir is an insufferable, vindictive lout, grovelling is a skill best mastered early and practised often. Then there is the highly educational experience of being shot at. Basic infantry principles dictate that when you blunder into hostile fire, at the very least duck, then do your best to either dig in or take yourself elsewhere.”
Elizabeth allowed some humour to seep through, her ferocious frown fading. “I hope that occasionally the idea of shooting back occurs.”
The colonel chuckled.
“I apologise for my bad humour. You caught me unawares,” she said contritely.
“How so?”
“Look around! Spring has arrived! The gardens are beautiful. The sun is shining. I was lulled into complacency, and was not entirely prepared for you to tell me that either my sister, my family, or perhaps even myself were considered so unsuitable that it was necessary for Mr Bingley to dance the opening and supper sets with my eldest sister; at a ball that appeared to neutral observers in her honour; after assiduously courting her for weeks; then to leave the county without a word, never to return, a mere 6 hours later.”
The colonel stared in stupefaction. “He did what?”
He collected himself. “I would ask you to repeat that, but I fear it would be even worse on a second hearing. That is in every way horrible.”
“It is! Still inclined to boast of it?”
He at least mustered the grace to look chagrined. “Does Darcy know that he left without a word?”
“He left the same day, within hours, so I assume so. He danced a set with me, then I never saw him again until you called at the parsonage.”
The colonel let out a heavy, frustrated breath.
“It is not my place, but I should like to have strong words with both of those clodpoles, and your idea of a boot to the shin has merit. This is unconscionable, and they should be called to account for such ungentlemanlike behaviour—not that I can boast of anything better.”
The colonel's strong words and supposed self-condemnation seemed a crutch to avoid truly unpleasant feelings, so Elizabeth dug in.
“And yet, you were perfectly willing to boast about it to a virtual stranger before you knew any of the particulars. Do you assume that any woman abandoned deserves her fate? I hope that is not the attitude you are instilling in your cousin. If so, the poor girl does not stand a chance.”
The colonel was more confused than contrite or angry.
“No, madam. You make a good point. Do you suppose I could introduce you to her? She could use your good sense. God knows she gets little enough from us.”
“Are you mad?” Elizabeth nearly shouted, then continued more calmly. “You most certainly may not! I doubt I will ever see you or your cousin again, and I can see no need to introduce Miss Darcy to such unsuitable company.”
A little tired of the abuse, the colonel said stridently, “You make my case! If Georgiana has nothing better than my cousin’s common sense and mine to guide her, she is doomed. You would be an exceptional influence on her.”
Elizabeth’s anger ebbed. “It makes little difference, sir. Our circles do not overlap, nor do they need to. Wish Miss Darcy well on my behalf, but it shall not be me she receives guidance from. If she needs wisdom, bring her to Rosings, and she can partake of sensible conversation with my sister. She is as clever as I am, and learning to deal with Lady Catherine will do your charge no harm if she intends to enter society.”
The colonel nodded, looking defeated. “May I at least take my cousin to task over this debacle?”
“You certainly may not! My aim is to have less damaging gossip, not more. That would be putting out a fire with lamp oil.”
“It shall be as you say, but I would like to knock some sense into him.”
“Feel free, but not on my behalf, and do not dare mention my sister. She has endured enough at their hands.”
They reached the parsonage, and with a headache threatening, Elizabeth curtseyed and did her best to send the colonel on his way with at least basic civility. With any luck, she would never meet him again.
Mary and William were out on parsonage business. They had errands that did not strictly require them both, but it was hard to separate them. Things were exactly as they should be for a loving couple married but a few months.
Elizabeth entered the house and went to her room to splash water on her face, thinking about what she had learnt—or more likely seething about it.
She had no earthly idea why it upset her so much to find Mr Darcy in the middle of the yapping cur’s antics, but basic honesty made her sheepishly admit that it did.
Someday, in a more rational stage of mind, she might recognise the emotion as disappointment!
However, in that time and place, all she could feel was anger at being made the subject of malicious gossip.
Was this how all her mother’s victims felt?
The thought carried her into another spiral of mortification.
The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned brought on a headache; and it grew so much worse towards the evening, that, added to her unwillingness to see Mr Darcy or his cousin, it determined her not to attend the Collinses to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea.
Mary asked, “Lizzy, what is wrong? Did you meet Mr Darcy again? Has he said something that upset you? I am not averse to some strong words with him.”
Elizabeth’s heart warmed to her little lion, so eager to protect her. “No, I did not meet him today.”
She did not want Mary to spend the evening fretting over her, so she spent one of the little lies she allowed herself with Mary.
They had been as honest as possible since Elizabeth’s first awkward conversation, but each occasionally fibbed for the other’s benefit.
“Perhaps I walked too far; the calendar is not auspicious.”
Mary nodded; the time for that event was near enough, and far be it from her to object to such an excuse, true or not.
“I will tell Lady Catherine you suffer a headache. If she objects, I will send William to her library to copy out definitions for invitation and obligation.”
Elizabeth laughed more than the jest called for, her love for her sister swelling.
Mary kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I insist you do not stay in this room all night. It is comfortable enough to sleep in, but a dismal place to spend all evening. Come down to the parlour, and I will ask Hannah to make you a light supper and some tea. It will help settle you.”
Elizabeth promised compliance, so Mary left to attend to a few matters in her own room. A knock surprised her, as did the voice that followed.
“Dear Cousin, I understand you feel unwell. Is there anything, anything at all, within my meagre capabilities, that can be done to restore your comfort?”
With her spirits much improved, Elizabeth glanced in the mirror to make certain she did not look a fright, opened the door, and boldly kissed her cousin on the cheek.
“Your sentiment alone is the tonic I needed, William. You may take the very best care of your wife, and I shall be well.”
William beamed at his wife. They went downstairs to the front hall, put on their wraps and gloves, and set out for the half-mile walk to Rosings.
Elizabeth reflected that she was almost certainly done with both gentlemen. They would, of course, call to take their leave in the morning, and Elizabeth doubted she would ever see either again.
She made no attempt to decide whether she was happy or sad about it.