Chapter 5
He dressed with care—almost as though he were attempting to conceal his torment beneath elegant clothes. Weston, his valet, regarded Darcy’s reflection in the mirror with admiration.
“You look excellent, sir!” he said, with a paternal expression that made Darcy smile.
Servants such as Weston, or Miss Robertson, his London housekeeper, wished for a mistress. From time to time—more often at Pemberley—he would hear, “You are too lonely, sir!” And that had only one meaning: he required a wife and children, the natural life of a man approaching thirty.
This would be the first time he had seen Miss Elizabeth since the Netherfield ball. Yet to him, it seemed they had never been apart, for in the past months she had been constantly in his thoughts.
To see her again brought him considerable agitation. She was resplendent—the only word he could find—and so unlike any other woman he knew. She was truly modest, yet entirely confident in her opinions and ideas.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “what a surprise to find you in Hunsford.”
“Mr Darcy.” She curtseyed, and he could not determine whether she was pleased to see him or not.
He made every effort to be seated near her at dinner, but as the company was small and the conversation general, they found no opportunity to speak privately.
“How do you like the country?” he asked, looking at her, though once again he could not read her expression.
“I like to travel and see new places,” she replied, “and certainly Rosings is impressive.”
“Perhaps you will allow me to hope that you may visit Pemberley in the future.”
Only then did she look at him with interest. “Thank you. It may be possible, as my aunt and uncle intend to visit the Lake District this summer.”
Their brief exchange was interrupted by his aunt, who disliked being excluded from any conversation. Her dinners were intended chiefly to display her own opinions. She seldom asked questions and frequently answered them herself.
Darcy looked at Anne and could scarcely believe she was the same young woman he had seen at his uncle’s ball. She was once more entirely under her mother’s influence. Seated beside her companion, Mrs Jenkinson, she appeared almost as motionless as marble.
He felt a pang of pity for her. Turning again towards Elizabeth, he was obliged to acknowledge that the Bennets had done well in raising her to be the spirited young lady she was. Lady Catherine, by contrast, had reduced her own daughter to something lifeless.
“Do you play the pianoforte, Miss Bennet?” Lady Catherine asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
Elizabeth seemed inclined to add something, but she was prevented when Lady Catherine launched into a discourse on those who lacked proper technique and how disagreeable it was to listen to them. Her tone was so pointed that Elizabeth coloured slightly.
“Madam,” Darcy said, “I believe that listening to music is in itself a pleasure. We ought to be indulgent towards anyone who studies the instrument for her own enjoyment.”
Lady Catherine regarded him with displeasure. She did not like to be contradicted; but her nephews enjoyed a certain privilege, and she chose not to pursue the matter further.
She was, indeed, a difficult woman, expressing her thoughts with such directness that she seemed perpetually engaged in criticism.
“Our dear aunt has no need of gossip,” the colonel had once observed with amusement, “for she says the most disagreeable things directly to one’s face.”
No one liked her—not even her brother—yet she was family.
As Mrs Bennet is Elizabeth’s mother, Darcy thought, and that must be borne. One does not choose one’s relations.
“Her family is the only obstacle you find in your way to her?” the colonel had asked him only moments before dinner.
He had not known what to answer. And now, seated near her, he was tempted to say, “Yes—her family is the only obstacle.”
Observing his aunt’s disdain towards her guests—the Collinses, Sir William, Maria, and Elizabeth—he realised that any attachment on his part would meet with opposition within his own family. The colonel was singular and, in time, might be his only support against both his aunt and his uncle.
Yet it was not his family’s disapproval that troubled him most, but rather the inadequacy of hers in the society to which he belonged.
“I must apologise for Lady Catherine. People here are far too indulgent towards her,” the colonel said to Elizabeth after dinner.
And she could not but notice that it was he, and not Darcy, who offered the apology.
Yet it was true: Mr Collins and even Sir William behaved almost as though they were in her service.
“Do not concern yourself,” Elizabeth said, meeting his gaze. “I do not readily submit to criticism.”
They both laughed, and Darcy could not help but feel a certain envy of his cousin’s ease and charm.
∞∞∞
He found himself unable to approach Elizabeth. Lady Catherine’s attention was fixed upon him. At every attempt to speak to her, she interrupted with some unwelcome question. His aunt behaved as though she suspected something between them, though nothing had, in fact, occurred.
Elizabeth remained perfectly composed, and he, in return, was stiff and reserved, despite the tumult within.
Not for a moment could he discern anything in her manner beyond civility—not the slightest wish to converse with him or to be near him.
She admired the house and the dinner as any guest might, but seemed more inclined towards the colonel than towards himself.
That evening, he appeared so discouraged that the colonel felt obliged to rouse him. “Come, be reasonable. In our aunt’s presence, it was best to avoid any particular attention to her.”
“It is not only that,” Darcy replied. “I have looked in vain for the smallest sign that she likes me. I ought to be jealous of you,” he added with a faint smile. “She showed far more interest in you than in me.”
“My dear Darcy! From the way you looked, one might have thought you had forgotten all your experience with women. It is perfectly simple: she appeared interested in the man in whom she felt no real interest at all.”
“I do not believe her capable of such behaviour. Never before has she acted in such a manner with me—or with anyone.”
“Then find an opportunity to meet her alone, and learn what her feelings truly are.”
∞∞∞
They met on several occasions. He even accompanied his cousin to the parsonage, where they paid visits that proved as uninteresting as all the others, for Mr Collins, or Mrs Collins with her guests, were always present.
Their deference was so excessive as to be disagreeable, and Darcy soon perceived that Lady Catherine’s influence extended well beyond Rosings itself.
“I spoke with Miss Elizabeth,” the colonel said one afternoon. “She walks almost every morning, around eleven, along various paths within and beyond the park. The best way to speak with her alone is to meet her during one of those walks.”
He looked at Darcy, waiting to learn whether he had reached a decision, but Darcy could not yet speak.