Chapter 2
Elizabeth waited with curiosity and a bit of interest for her meeting with Mr Darcy.
She was satisfied that upon this occasion she might prepare herself for the encounter—ready to smile more, and to bury her sarcasm beneath sufficient layers, as only he would discern its true meaning.
She delighted in being spirited and unaccountable, yet on this occasion she resolved to introduce only such subjects as engaged her own interest, and not to suffer the conversation to sink into the commonplace or the expected.
All she required to prepare herself properly was a few solitary walks in the morning mist, gathering inspiration from the beauty of the neighbourhood and a resolution not to let him triumph in their debates.
Then, she was resolved, through a discourse conducted with the utmost delicacy, to discover what had passed in November, and why Mr Bingley had quitted Netherfield, leaving Jane in tears and despondency—at least insofar as Mr Darcy might be privy to the matter.
For her father had often remarked that gentlemen were not accustomed to share their confidences as freely as ladies.
Yet, in some quiet recess of her mind, she nurtured the suspicion that the Miss Bingleys and Mrs Hurst had played a decisive role in their brother’s sudden departure, while Mr Darcy, even by his silence alone, had revealed his reservations concerning the society around Netherfield.
Elizabeth hoped that their meeting, taking place under different circumstances, would prove at least diverting, if not altogether enlightening.
One matter alone had she failed to foresee: that Charlotte, ever apprehensive of Mr Darcy’s opinion, had, from anxiety, delayed informing her of his arrival until the very last moment.
As on nearly every morning, she set out alone for a short walk soon after breakfast. Elizabeth had been allowed, yet without explicit remark, to walk in the gardens of Rosings.
Although she would never have voiced it aloud, the grandeur of the house, rising amidst enchanting parkland and broad meadows, drew her with a force she could scarcely resist. She had been somewhat astonished that Lady Catherine, who was in most particulars exceedingly prejudiced, should have accorded her this privilege.
Yet after several dinners at Rosings, she perceived that the mistress of the estate subsisted chiefly upon the praises of those around her, and that she herself was expected to visit the park, thereby furnishing material for such commendation.
Half amused, she smiled at the notion, following with her eyes a flock of birds which scattered noisily into the trees, as yet bereft of leaves.
Even so, they offered a pleasing spectacle, for all had been carefully trimmed during the past week.
The garden, without doubt, would prove most splendid once spring had fully come, and each season likely rendered a landscape more enchanting than the last.
Her walk had brought her far nearer to the house than she intended.
All unknowingly, she found herself close at hand when Rosings’s main door was suddenly opened.
Two gentlemen stepped forth, and her heart ceased its motion the instant she recognised one of them—it was Mr Darcy.
Genuinely alarmed and somewhat embarrassed, she cast a glance behind her.
Yet she could not now avoid the meeting, for several hundred yards lay between her and the gate, while but a dozen steps divided her from the staircase of the mansion.
She contrived to smile and conceal her confusion.
Yet it was unlikely that the gentlemen had observed the colour upon her cheeks, for a brief, though rather heated, exchange had passed between them.
At length, they descended and drew near to where she stood.
After bowing before her, he said, “Permit me to introduce my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.” Then, his gaze resting upon her with an expression she could not interpret, he added, “Miss Bennet.”
The moment was, without question, most singular.
The unexpected encounter before a house where she had no immediate reason to be, the short discourse exchanged between the two gentlemen, and his impassive countenance—from which she inferred that Mr Darcy was not pleased by the meeting—all united to leave her with an acute sense of unease.
Yet, to her surprise, he conducted himself with perfect propriety, and the smile upon her lips deepened, for it seemed that the gentlemen were, in truth, more disconcerted than herself.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, after a few awkward phrases and a bow, re-entered the house, murmuring something about a forgotten pair of gloves, though Elizabeth could have sworn he held the very article in his left pocket.
She turned her gaze from Mr Darcy for a moment, and when she looked again, her astonishment was vivid.
The countenance, which had been unreadable lately, was now softened by a look almost approaching a smile—reserved yet undeniably courteous.
“My family does not excel in subtlety.”
Elizabeth confessed inwardly that the surprise of encountering him had turned almost to shock at so evident a display of ease. She did not answer, but continued walking beside him in that agreeable temper.
“I fear I may have presumed too far upon the liberty of walking in Rosings’s park and have ventured too near the house—”
“Because you encountered me?” Still with composure, he invited her, by a courteous gesture, to proceed along the path at his side.
“In the first place, because the invitation referred solely to the outer paths and not to the principal avenue.”
“I do not believe, nevertheless, that any prohibition was expressed. You are welcome in every part of my aunt’s domain.”
Almost involuntarily, she turned her eyes towards him, endeavouring still to reconcile the gentleman before her with the one she had known in Hertfordshire. Yet again, she was met with a look of unaffected civility.
“You appear surprised, and yet I cannot perceive the cause.” He toyed idly with the small stones along the path.
The gesture brought a smile to her lips, for her father had often done the same.
For a moment, she was tempted to remind him of those days that followed the Netherfield ball, when all had departed without a word of farewell.
She refrained. The morning was fair; he seemed altered for the better, less proud and more disposed to civility than she remembered him.
Though she loved Jane dearly and longed to understand Mr Bingley’s sudden withdrawal, she resolved to preserve the pleasantness of the morning and to enjoy his company as though meeting him for the first time.
“I did not expect to meet you today, for although I had been informed of your coming, I did not imagine your arrival so near.”
“Oh—then you knew I was coming… That we were coming,” he amended quickly, recollecting his cousin, who had appeared and vanished like an apparition.
“Indeed, I did. I have dined several times at Lady Catherine’s table, and on each occasion your arrival has been the principal topic of conversation.”
“Yes, there is little else to engage the mind here. The colonel and I visit at least once a year, and I dare say our visit is looked forward to. Lady Catherine seldom journeys to London, and her chief amusement lies in receiving guests. Yet she excels in hospitality, and that is a merit not to be slighted.”
She glanced at him, awaiting further remark, and inclined her head. She had ever regarded Lady Catherine as equal in pride and presumption to the gentleman she had met at the Meryton assembly. Her dinners, though often tedious, were undeniably grand.
“I must agree. The house is most imposing, and her cook quite excellent.”
“You are partial to Rosings?” His curiosity was far removed from formality. As she hesitated, he continued, “It is impossible not to admire Rosings, yet—”
“It seems as though all stands untouched by time—unchanged—as if for a hundred years nothing had stirred.” She completed his sentence, suddenly certain that they thought the same.
“And do you believe that the past century has wrought great change in other corners of our lives?”
“At the very least, in matters of fashion,” she replied, laughing, and indicating with a gesture the simplicity of her pelisse.
“Merely thirty years ago, ladies still wore those voluminous skirts—often supported by hoops or panniers—forming a figure so unnatural and so fatiguing to endure through the day—”
“And the wigs—worn by ladies and gentlemen alike,” he said, wincing at the remembrance of such encumbrance.
“Precisely. When I first entered the dining-room at Rosings, the decoration seemed drawn from a tableau of Marie Antoinette. The splendour of the former century is to be admired, yet I could not bear to inhabit so excessively adorned a scene.”
“Pemberley is wholly different.” His tone held that fondness she remembered well, for only when he spoke of his estate in Derbyshire did he appear truly open to sentiment.
“In what manner different?” she asked eagerly and with unhidden curiosity.
“My mother was a woman of our time. She embraced the natural simplicity which this century has sought to restore after the extravagance of the last. My father was at first alarmed by her notions. Yet he was soon convinced that rooms freed from superfluous ornament, and furniture reduced to elegant utility, formed a far more agreeable habitation.”
“I am entirely of this opinion.” For the first time, she considered what it might mean to redecorate Longbourn—her beloved home, cheerful and familiar, yet still bearing the marks of five lively girls.
It was delightful. The house possessed character, and the gardens were of sufficient breadth to set it handsomely.
Yet she was obliged to admit that it was worn and somewhat modest in appearance.
“Have you seen the lake?”