Chapter 19
The ladies entered an almost empty dining room.
Only the colonel and another couple had arrived, though it was already the hour appointed for breakfast. The colonel immediately rose and hastened towards them, while Mrs Cooper, suspecting that he wished to speak with Elizabeth, approached the couple seated at the table.
And indeed, with a friendly gesture, the colonel invited Elizabeth towards the terrace. The French windows stood once more open, since the rain had ceased, and a splendid sun had appeared, already warming the air.
“I am so very sorry,” said the colonel once they had reached the terrace.
Elizabeth looked towards the roses, which appeared to have burst into bloom overnight after the rain—a fairy-like profusion of colours, exquisitely delicate, many still bearing drops of water glittering in the rays of the sun, and that familiar sight gave her a sense of normality her life had lately lacked.
“Thank you,” she returned at last.
“My words cannot express what I feel.”
Elizabeth nodded, looking at him with affection and gratitude.
“I admire exceedingly your courage and the strength you have shown.”
“I fear that, in truth, not so much courage is required to flee in search of forgetfulness, rather than remain and attempt to mend what has been broken. I feel guilty.”
“I believe you are doing precisely what is right. Even to continue living after so many blows requires courage. At least, that is my opinion.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth answered again.
“If there should ever be anything I might do for you, for any of you, I beg you not to hesitate a moment to ask it of me. After Kent, I feared you had remained displeased with me. Forgive me, but I wished to settle a matter which has long weighed upon my mind.”
Elizabeth made a slight gesture with her hand, as though putting aside all that had passed before. But the colonel required words, and seeing the anxious manner in which he looked at her, Elizabeth smiled faintly.
“Believe me, all that occurred in Kent, indeed, everything before…my father’s departure from us, now feels entirely foreign to me, as though it had happened in a life I had read of rather than lived.”
“It is natural. Such a tragedy alters the whole course of one’s life. But I am glad that we may continue a friendship which, even then, appeared to me remarkably easy, especially because it arose so naturally. We required very little time.”
“That is exactly what I felt as well. Yes, I am glad to meet you again.”
And he could not resist asking, “And are you glad to be at Pemberley also?”
Elizabeth’s smile faded slightly, though her expression became thoughtful rather than sad. She did not answer, and, taking advantage of the dining room gradually filling, returned to the table.
Miss Darcy greeted her cheerfully and indicated the seat beside her, at the opposite end of the table from that occupied by Mr Darcy.
Mrs Cooper was already pleasantly surrounded; Elizabeth glanced towards her, but she already was amongst her new friends, such as they already appeared.
“Fitzwilliam begs to be excused, but some important business upon the estate keeps him occupied. He will join us presently.”
Elizabeth felt a faint disappointment at his absence—unexpectedly so.
She had wished him to receive her himself, that she might perceive whether the conversation of the previous evening had truly established a different understanding between them.
But in the end, she liked that he placed his duties before all else.
Without intending it, she imagined him upon horseback, as she had seen him several times at Meryton, with that air peculiar to a man perfectly at ease on horseback, just as he was in his manner of walking; and, the first time in many years, she regretted that she did not ride.
An accident at ten years of age had left her afraid of horses, and from that day she had never mounted one again.
The colonel returned to her side after exchanging a few words with Miss Darcy concerning breakfast, little more than an invitation to begin without the master of the house.
Taking advantage of the fact that Georgiana was engaged in conversation with a lady, the colonel whispered to Elizabeth, “She is adorable, but at times she is afraid to make firm decisions as mistress of the house. At present, she inclines to wait for Darcy, though he expressly desired that we should not wait for him.”
“She is very young; at her age, I was still a child.”
“That is true, but her life has been very different from yours. I know it is dreadful to say so, but you had your father until now.”
“Yes, and I am exceedingly grateful that I had this miraculous chance. My father was the centre of my universe, and now I feel myself unsteady without his support.”
“That sensation will pass. I am certain the time will come when you shall find him again in all that he gave you.”
Elizabeth looked at the colonel in surprise. They had indeed shared several interesting conversations, but that morning, he was almost profound. She felt ashamed when she realised how superficial and burdened by prejudice her view of the society to which Darcy belonged had been.
She had not been mistaken in Lady Catherine, nor in Mr Bingley’s sisters, but she had too easily imagined the whole of Darcy’s world alike—arrogant, superficial, and possessed of an unjustified sense of superiority.
“What are you thinking of?” asked the colonel, observing how long she remained silent.
Elizabeth hesitated only a moment before telling him exactly what she had thought, and indeed her sincerity succeeded in astonishing him. She did not, of course, mention names, but she spoke of Rosings and Netherfield.
“So you are a lady with prejudices?”
“Precisely. I observe that prejudices exist in both our worlds.”
“They are not different worlds, Miss Elizabeth.”
“It does not matter how many worlds there are; prejudice is a capital fault.”
“But the moment one succeeds in recognising one’s faults, one may also change.”
Elizabeth silently agreed and turned her gaze towards Georgiana, who appeared to be listening to them. The girl blushed slightly.
“I beg your pardon, but I found what you were saying very interesting,” she whispered.
Elizabeth instinctively laid her hand gently upon hers to reassure her.
“There are no secrets.”
“And I am glad that discussions of that sort interest you,” added the colonel.
Elizabeth turned again towards Georgiana, who had resumed eating, and reflected that rarely had anyone won upon her through so few glances and words.
She had heard many conversations concerning her—her talent for music, her refinement and elegance—but she had not believed much of it, because such praises came from Mr Bingley’s sisters, who plainly spoke for Mr Darcy’s ear, for such was their nature.
Yet it proved that, for once, the two ladies had been perfectly right, and Miss Darcy was exactly as they had described her.
And the secret Darcy had revealed in his letter concerning her dreadful affair with that scoundrel Wickham only increased Elizabeth’s interest in her. A girl not yet sixteen, who had succeeded in resisting such pressures as Wickham must certainly have exerted, could only be extraordinary.
But there was something more. Miss Darcy had lost both her parents at an incredibly early age. Elizabeth looked at her, trying to imagine the tragedy she had endured, and which in some measure resembled her own.
Then Darcy entered, and suddenly everything seemed to revolve around him.
In excellent spirits, almost cheerful, he was dressed as she had never before seen him, in clothes which strongly resembled her father’s hunting attire: a dark green jacket of thick cloth, buckskin breeches, and tall black boots still dusty from the roads beyond Pemberley.
He came directly from the fields; he had probably removed only his riding coat in the hall and left behind his whip and gloves.
She remembered how her mother had always cried out that her father must not enter the library at once, though his greatest pleasure had been to seat himself immediately upon returning home, with a glass of brandy in his hand.
Darcy greeted them and then hastily resumed his place and began to eat, evidently hungry; only after several minutes did he look towards her and smile, as though he had only then remembered her presence.
She closed her eyes, and she was in her father’s library.
“Elizabeth, you are covering yourself in mud!” Mr Bennet would have cried, and yet what pleasure it had given her to remove his boots.
She laid down her cutlery, incapable of eating any longer, but fortunately, there was such animation at the table that nobody observed it.
The meal ended, and Darcy begged them to excuse him for half an hour while he changed, adding that he hoped to find them all afterwards in the drawing room.
“What has happened, my dear?” whispered Mrs Cooper on their way towards the drawing room.
She had probably perceived Elizabeth’s agitation, but there was little to be said.
How could she explain that she would never again remove her beloved father’s boots, nor afterwards spend hours discussing philosophy, mathematics, or history with him?