Chapter 12
“What is it? Have you lost Pemberley?” asked the colonel with humour, holding Darcy’s horse as he dismounted. He knew that he had been to his solicitors in Derby; he had excused himself that morning at breakfast, saying he would leave him for a few hours, though his cousin had come only for a week.
Darcy looked at him with amused reproach, but his presence cheered him in any circumstance.
“A lesser catastrophe,” he said, inviting him into the library, their preferred room, where they could be alone, since the centre of Pemberley was the drawing room on the ground floor, where the friends who visited them throughout the summer were accustomed to gather.
“All that occurred last summer at Ramsgate, with that scoundrel Wickham, had one unexpected advantage—Georgiana has matured, and has become the mistress of this house, which has long been without one.”
“Leave that,” said the colonel, with a half-laugh that did not conceal his curiosity. “What has happened?”
“What could I call a lesser catastrophe than losing Pemberley, and still…a catastrophe?”
“You have met Miss Elizabeth,” said the colonel, without reflection, not believing such a thing possible; but the astonishment on Darcy’s face stopped him almost in the middle of the word. “What? You have met her, indeed?”
Darcy nodded and made a slight motion for him to be silent, fearing that someone might enter and summon them to the drawing room. He needed a moment to breathe, to understand what had passed.
“Yes, I met her in Derby, with a lady at whose house she is, I believe, staying…I do not know the particulars, when I asked whether she was visiting, she answered me in the sharpest tone—‘I am here in a capacity which renders me accountable for more than my own comfort.’”
“What does that mean?” The colonel looked at him with a half-smile, though his interest was far from slight.
“I do not know—”
“And you did not enquire?”
“No,” said Darcy.
“Of course you did not,” returned the colonel, with mock gravity. “Why should you enquire what brings, within a few miles of your own house, the woman you love?”
“The woman I loved,” Darcy corrected, but the colonel’s look made him smile, almost guiltily. “The woman I love…or loved…I still love. Spare me your theories.”
“My theories? My dear Darcy, you have at last found a woman worth the trouble. England does not abound in those who would refuse you.”
“And for you, that is the supreme proof that she is extraordinary!”
“It is proof enough,” the colonel replied, with an ease that carried more truth than argument. “I thought her remarkable soon after I met her; but when she refused you, after that most unfortunate proposal, I understood that you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, had at last met your equal.”
Darcy laughed heartily at his words.
“You are both right and wrong.”
“In what respect?”
“In the matter of the love I may not feel. I believe she attracted me from the first moment, which, I admit, has never happened to me before. Still, I do not know any lady who has provoked me, vexed me, and frustrated me as she has. And now, if you ask me what I feel, after seeing her again…I do not know.”
“I shall tell you what you feel,” said the colonel, with sudden decision, “and if you do not feel it, I shall desert, if I must, and remain here until you do. You must see her again—at once, and often—at least until you understand whether you wish to pursue her or to forget her entirely. These past months, you have been insupportable—and I have many witnesses: from your sister to your valet, and indeed all the young ladies who visit you in the hope that you might at last observe them.”
“I do…notice them,” said Darcy.
“You do not appear to,” returned the colonel, with an air of conviction. “But let us not wander. Where does she reside, and with whom?”
Darcy hesitated, but he knew his cousin too well to suppose resistance of any use.
Nor, indeed, did he greatly wish it—the meeting had unsettled him.
He had believed he was forgetting her, little by little.
Once or twice, he had considered returning to Hertfordshire with Bingley, who still held Netherfield, but he abandoned the idea.
Instead, he had retreated to Pemberley, hoping that the place he loved would assist him, but no answers had come regarding Elizabeth.
“She is staying with a Mrs Cooper, in Friar Gate—”
“Then the matter is simple,” said the colonel, with immediate satisfaction. “Sit down, and write to her.”
Darcy did not move.
“I would write it myself,” the colonel continued, “but I must allow you the distinction—particularly as you have already distinguished yourself in that line, by writing to her as though that proposal, which sounded more like an accusation than a declaration, were not sufficient.”
“Stop,” said Darcy.
“Listen, Darcy—you know me well enough. I may be arch, ironic, full of spirits, but at this moment, whatever I may seem, I am not easy.”
“Not easy? For what, in Heaven’s name?”
“That you may not have the courage to fight for Miss Elizabeth.”
“To fight? With whom am I to contend for her?”
“With whom you have always contended…with yourself. Fitzwilliam, I entreat you, invite the ladies to tea, to dinner, it does not matter, while I am still here. You may even add that I am particularly desirous of seeing her again, and that I remain but a few days. It will excuse everything.”
“Everything that concerns Elizabeth becomes a struggle for me.”
“A struggle without sense. For you, love weighs as much as social conventions.”
“And is it not so?”
The colonel shook his head. He avoided philosophical discussions; the army may have made him wiser, but it had also dispelled that inclination, so common in their world, to split hairs in the name of decorum.
“You know I do not care to speak at length, and we have discussed this subject sufficiently since we left Kent. I see matters more simply. The essence of your struggle is clear: Miss Elizabeth’s parents and sisters do not belong to our world.
You would have been uneasy to present them to my parents and your friends because you think they do not know how to conduct themselves.
That was, in truth, the motive of your struggle; but to weigh against a happy and fulfilling life such a fear—forgive me, but to me it appears rather trivial. ”
“It is not only that. I would not say that Miss Elizabeth was pleased to see me.”
“She could hardly have been. Your last meeting was a contest in which, in the end, neither of you was particularly elegant. Only you bear the fault of having begun it. She answered what you said.”
“Severely.”
“Thank Heaven she did; otherwise, she would have proved not to be the woman I believed her.”
“And now?” asked Darcy, looking at the colonel. He seemed, in earnest, to require advice.
But the colonel knew that the best way to assist him was to leave him to reflect, to understand, and only then to decide—exactly the opposite of what he had done in Kent. Only now, he was prepared to do so.
“I will invite them to dine; the note shall go tomorrow at noon.”
The colonel nodded with a grave expression. Whatever his cousin might do, the rules of decorum were too deeply rooted to be altered in a moment. Hopefully, that young lady had the power to make him feel that a change was necessary.